Closet Slytherin
by The-Dragon's-Secret
Summary: Formerly Stone Dragon's Curse."What makes you think I'll help you?" She said."You, Granger have this urge to help people - so my dear, marry me." He said. And with that begins an extraordinary adventure. Complete. Unedited.
1. Prologue: Wedding night

**Chapter 1**

**(as edited by Aligalloo)**

Hermione Jean Granger had always been regarded as smart. And she always made sure that she exuded that 'good girl' vibe. She knew that she was different, and how she was smart - and intelligent, with this kind of exotic beauty that seemed to linger near her.

Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, was average to say the least. He was the youngest son in a large family, who did not have the wealth that was usually dictated by the term pureblood. With his red hair, and startling blue eyes, it was clear he fitted into the family.

So perhaps it is odd that Ronald Weasley decided he deserved better than Hermione. And it is especially odd, when one could say Hermione was already out of his league as it was.

Nonetheless, Hermione had embarked on a relationship with the tall red-head, and though she found the passion lacking - as well as the stimulating conversation, Hermione would have claimed she was happy. They were destined to be, claimed the entirety of the wizarding world. And so, Hermione suffered quietly, knowing that should she start, she would destroy the faith that society held in her.

With great acclaim comes great responsibility.

Hermione, though not conceited, would never have suspected that Ronald Weasley would break up with her, in an indecorous way, on their second anniversary.

It so happened that he did promptly break up with her, in a way that would make even a saint angry.

Hermione, who had expected a proposal on their date, did not show her emotions, as she thanked him and walked out of the restaurant, with dignity that so defined her character.

It was only when she got home, that she sat on the couch, and realised that her plan to help society failed. As the strong woman she was, she did not cry. But it was with a paining heart, she dwelled on how the other girls in her year were mostly married, with children along the way.

And Hermione, who had valued her career, had been left behind, and had wasted two years of her life on Ron Weasley.

She instead decided to learn from her mistakes and settled into bed with a good book; her bookworm trait was the only residue of the bushy-haired, buck-toothed school girl Hermione was remembered as.

When at exactly 8pm on that Friday night, the doorbell rang, Hermione started. Ron was prone to changing his mind, but he usually took a great deal of sulking before he did.

She walked to the door, not caring to put on a dressing gown over the short satin nightie she wore. Upon opening her door, she was no doubt surprised with the man who stood there.

With his trademark smirk decorating his face, and his blond hair whipping in his grey eyes, Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret himself stood in her doorway.

In most situations, Hermione would have greeted him politely, and invited him in. However, Hermione, who had not eaten for the entire day - due to a great amount of work, promptly fainted into his arms in shock.

And it was so, that Hermione Granger was carried over the threshold by none other than Draco Malfoy, ironically reminiscent of a wedding night.


	2. Draco Malfoy

**Chapter 2**

**(as edited by Aligalloo)**

Upon waking up in the morning, Hermione had faint recollections of the day before. It hadn't been a good day yesterday - a break up wasn't exactly the best. It took a moment before Hermione remembered a flash of grey eyes, and platinum blonde hair.

These two memories were reminiscent of a man who had teased her since they were children. A certain Mr. Draco Malfoy.

Walking over to her fireplace, she called Luna, her face going into the fire. Luna had blossomed into a good friend. She was wise and kind; and did not have that startling ability to be too loyal to family members that Ginny had.

"Luna, I had the strangest dream." Hermione said, as she began to describe the events of the night before, involving Malfoy. A moment later she gave a sharp gasp, as she saw the object of their conversation in the doorway.

"Hermione?" Luna's voice resounded through the room as Hermione removed her head from the fire, ending the floo call with a very worried, and mystified Luna on the other end.

Hermione was still surprised. Draco Malfoy had no doubt matured. He was taller, more athletic and he had matured mentally as well, she had no doubt. Draco Malfoy stood before her with a plate of chocolate chip pancakes and wearing an apron.

She resisted the urge to faint.

"Um, good morning?"

He looked up, nodded and then gestured to the leather sofa, with a practised ease.

"Have a seat."

She sat down, without protest.

"This is my house; am I not the one who should be offering you a seat?" She asked, with a forced casual tone to her voice.

Handing her the plate, he replied with a question of his own.

"Tell me, Granger, do you have a habit of falling into stranger's arms or am I the first?"

His old self was reminiscent in his words. And Hermione found herself thankful that he had stopped being as nice as he had been being. The turn of his lips on the corners, and the sparkle in his eyes indicated to Hermione that he was, in fact, just joking.

Still drowsy from sleep, Hermione answered honestly,

"You are the first."

"I feel special." He replied, in a tone contradictory to his words. " Now that you've finished pigging out," he signalled to her empty plate. "You may have realised that is not a social call, if you are indeed the brightest witch of your age. I need a favour."

She waved her hand - a motion for him to continue.

" Tell me. Have you heard of the fallen angels? Anges Tombes - they call them." He had now settled down into a particularly worn leather armchair, and leaned forward, as if confiding in her.

Hermione resisted the urge to laugh; he looked almost exactly as one of the old twittering witches that resided on her road.

As she registered his words, and indeed his question, Hermione gasped, her eyes lighting up - her former bookworm shining through.

"Oh, the angels that turned evil, living on earth as wizards, with hearts of stone and cursed forever more."

"Yes." He said with a dismissive tone. "What if I told you that I am one of the originals - and that I need help securing my mate?"

She did not start this time; she had indeed suspected this. And she had no doubt in her mind, who had the kindness and beauty that was demanded of the mate of one of these fallen angels. Luna.

She smiled with happiness.

"Is it Luna Lovegood?" She was sure he would confirm her suspicions.

"Yes or no. Will you help me?" Draco asked again, with a sense of urgency lingering over his words.

"Yes." She said simply. "So, is it Luna?"

"No. My mate, my dear, is you."


	3. The mate

Silence greeted his revelation. Hermione was silent as she sat, blinking at him. It took moments for her to register his words, and minutes for her to fully comprehend them.

And her entire being transformed. Her elegant posture demolished in front of his eyes, and he watched as her head bent down, and her arms relaxed, her head falling down. Her shoulders shook.

Hermione Granger was not, in any way, weak. Draco was well aware of this when he had approached her, in this manner. She would not cry. Tenderly, seizing the opportunity, he gently stroked her brunette hair back.

She was crying. And he hadn't had many pleasant experiences with crying females, but he would indeed help her. In shock at his touch, she raised her head, her eyes alarmed.

The tear tracks he expected did not appear on her face. Her eyes sparkled with humour, and her lips stretched into a smile. She was laughing hysterically and for a moment, Draco wondered whether insanity had gripped her in the face of his revelation.

"When did you get a sense of humour?" She said, between her gasps of laughter. She did not seem in the least bothered.

Draco's face was solemn as he replied to her, willing her to understand.

"This is not a joke, Granger."

Hermione, however was lost to all sense, as she carried on her musical laughter.

"Is this a hidden camera show? I didn't realise they had those in the wizarding world." She seemed to be almost talking to herself, but she was not, and he accepted this, when he replied.

"What is a hidden camera show?"

That innocent question on Draco's part was enough to snap Hermione out of it - this definitely was not a joke.

She raised her fist to hit him on the arm hard - and it brought back memories of the last time she had hit him. In third year, under a tree, as he had trumpeted about 'that oaf Hagrid'.

"What was that for, woman?" He asked sharply. "Women - unreasonable creatures." He muttered darkly.

"You tricked me into saying yes!" Her face reddened as she realised that she had been fooled by Malfoy. A man that she had always thought would never be able to beat her in any thing, no matter how trivial.

"Slytherin." He replied simply, and in a laughing manner. "They call you the Brightest Witch of our Age!"

"Ferret." she said viciously.

"Now, now dear. Is that any way to speak to your fiancé?" He seemed to be enjoying this too much, but Hermione figured it was because he had had a chance to get used to it. Something which she herself had been denied.

That was enough to bring Hermione back to the subject at hand however.

"Tell me more, you enigmatic pig!" She said, practically growling at the man.

"Well, a fallen angel's mate is destined and planned in the stars. A white glow surrounds the mate on the fallen angel's 21st birthday, visible only to the fallen angel. The fallen angel is always dominant - and older than their mate-"

"Ah ha ! I just spotted your problem! You are younger than me - remember in sixth year you didn't take the apparation test!" She said triumphantly.

"Please - do not insult my intelligence - my father paid for me to do it earlier in the year. I am the oldest in the year in fact - my birthday is September 6th. Now as I was saying, the couple then need to consummate their relationship - and result in a child who shall possess the powers of fallen angels as well. We must marry because there cannot be an illegitimate Malfoy - it is not done!" He said in a monotone.

"Marrying mudbloods - that is not done either. Besides I have a boyfriend." She calmly replied.

"Not any more." He placed a copy of Witch Weekly, on the table that loudly pronounced her break up. Underneath the flashing heading, was a small printed name - Rita Skeeter.

"She still writes? Guess I'll have to threaten her again-" She trailed off, remembering whose company she was in.

"Closet Slytherin, Granger?" He smirked

"You wish."

"Moving on, we need to do this quickly - by your 21st birthday. On November the 3rd, unless I'm mistaken?" He said swiftly.

"How did you know? And why so quickly?" She asked.

"Malfoys know everything. We have to hurry up, Granger - otherwise I die. We need to bond now before the pain comes - it will happen in stages."

"What makes you think I'll help you?" She said.

"You, Granger have this urge to help people - so my dear, marry me."

He pulled a ring out and then he was kneeling. She glanced at the ring - typical Slytherin. A platinum band with elegant carving and a large emerald set in the middle with diamonds lining it. He bent his head as if in respect - Hermione thought he was being romantic - until she realised he was writhing with pain.

He reached out a hand, apologising. She let him touch her leg, and that was when the pain hit her. He was letting her feel how he felt. And it was worse than anything she had felt before.

"Marry me, Granger."

"Yes." She said breathlessly - suffering from the pain.

And with that single word, the bond was made. The pain subsided, but the couple who faced each other knew that there were more trials to come.


	4. A spark

It was a timid Hermione who hid from her friends for the following week. She was unsure of how to break the news to all of them. She was engaged to a man that they all hated.

A man who the majority of society despised, along with his parents and other family members.

The War had done nothing to aid the purebloods who were on the wrong side of it. Prejudice filled the wizarding world in a dramatic role reversal of how it had in the former world.

The name Malfoy was enough to make anyone start. And it was more than enough for a few dirty looks to be flung around carelessly. It tickled the people, who had been wronged, how far the Malfoys had fallen. Those who had lorded themselves over the Ministry and the 'inferiors' were not loved - that was one fact that all admitted.

Unsure of how they would react, Hermione decided to keep it quiet, from all but Luna. Ginny, who had always been a firm supporter of Hermione's relationship with Ron, was much too prejudiced.

And Hermione did not want to get involved, and force Harry to choose between his wife's stupidity and his friends.

However, a week passed, and Hermione decided it was time to face the heat. Draco, who had disappeared, possibly on a business trip, was not present and therefore would be safe from the violence that would have braced him otherwise.

Ginny was the one who intercepted Hermione's floo call. It was she who had held a look of utter disappointment at how unaffected Hermione seemed, but had held her tongue. It was also she, who only moments later, promptly informed Hermione of how her brother was now dating Lavender Brown.

It was clear she had expected some form of sadness from Hermione, but Hermione merely smiled.

She was silent for a moment more, before remembering that she too had information to divulge.

"I am getting married, Ginny." She spoke softly.

Ginny's face was a mask of surprise, but Hermione accepted that Ginny was bitter in some way or form, and let it slide.

"I want to thank your brother; I would never have considered my fiancé if it wasn't for him." Draco and Hermione had decided that the best way to keep up their façade was to pretend to be in love.

"I am sure my brother would wish me to thank you for the same reasons."

Hermione, who was now bubbling with anger, promptly thanked Ginny, and ended the floo call.

With a sigh, she realised that prejudices did not fade instantly. And she understood that even hers had not faded completely yet. She could not ask more than what Ginny offered - blunt acceptance.

* * *

Draco studied Hermione as she frantically searched for books on the Fallen Angel curse. She still entertained the foolish notion that she might find some way to break the curse other then to marry him. He didn't understand why, he was quite a catch, even if he did say so himself.

Draco looked at what she was wearing. A tight fitting halter top and a delicate mini skirt that fell in petals. She wore red stilettos that made her legs look longer than they were.

With a gasp of surprise, he realised,

"The bushy-haired bookworm had grown up."

Her hair now fell in shiny brunette locks - so silky that he wanted to run his hands through them.

Draco's prejudices against muggle-borns and half-borns had long since ended, but memories of pain his family had caused her were firm in his mind. He would not love, he would tolerate - for that indeed was the best she could give him, and he would not invest more than that in her. His mind settled on this, as his eyes lost focus.

Shaking his head,as if to clear it of all thoughts of Granger, he turned to look again. Looking at her elegant posture, he stroked his slightly stubbly chin. She was pretty but she had a lot to improve on if she was to be a Malfoy wife.

He would take her to see Gustavo - Narcissa's personal designer. He massaged his temples, as a sharp pain shot through them. Hermione looked up - her eyes full of concern. She felt the pain because of the bond.

Stepping forward hesitantly, she gently rolled her fingers in circle to calm down his migraine.

There was golden silence - no insults - no arguments. It felt so perfect. And though they would deny it later - they felt a connection. A spark.


	5. An old friend

Paris was so beautiful - its elegant buildings, exciting nightlife and romantic language. Hermione loved Paris. She had been there every year since she was the tender age of three and it never failed to astound her. It was amazing and even a blond stuck-up ferret was not going to ruin it for her.

Running to keep up with him, she gasped out a question,

"Where are we going?"

He walked on, barely giving her a glance, with a sense of purpose. She watched as he knocked on a wall - much like the public entrance of Diagon wall opened revealing a golden gate. Draco withdrew a pocket watch and snapped it open. A minature silver key lay nestled underneath the clockwork.

He opened the gate turning to a bemused Hermione and said, as if in explanation,

"Little Amberton was created for purebloods - a wizarding town for the elite."

"_Hah! I know something you don't!_" He thought, internally.

He checked the time - 10:38. The appointment was at 10:45; Malfoys were never late unless it was fashionably late. Without thinking, he grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her through the gathering crowd.

It wasn't everyday you saw a third of the golden trio and the Malfoy heir walking - or rather running - through a wizarding town for the elite.

A reporter stepped through the crowd - Rita Skeeter.

During the war, the animagus records had been destroyed to keep order members safe. It had been relatively easy to register pretending she had always been in the records.

She watched the retreating backs of the couple.

It had been 6 years since the blackmailing but Rita Skeeter was the type to hold a grudge.

Now she had one mission and that was to successfully destroy the life of that pretentious little mudblood. And she had the perfect plan.

* * *

Blaise Zabini had spent his entire life living in the war. It was lucky he had missed Azkaban unlike his parents-now he was working in his cousins store . Well, when he said working he meant perving on innocent customers.

The bell rang and a beautiful blonde haired girl entered. Blaise recognised her from Hogwarts – she was in the year below him and was well-known for her radish earrings. They were ever present as she swung her hair back from her face and turned walking towards Gustavo – his cousin.

He picked up a quill and twirled it in between his fingers as he studied how gracefully his moved. Her honey brown highlights seemed to shine in the sun as she talked animatedly. Gustavo gestured towards where Blaise stood and her sea blue eyes focused on him for a moment.

She turned and walked out.

Blaise returned to the previous task of documenting all of the sales he had made in the previous day and the tips he had received. There were only some cents in the jar – it was nearly empty – like it had been the day before.

Blaise raised his head, as the bell rang once more, and in entered a pretty brunette in a huff and Draco Malfoy. A wave of anger hit Blaise as he thought of how the Malfoy's social standing hadn't changed – that they were still rich.

He watched as Draco took the girl by the elbow and how she instinctively leaned into him. Then as if realising what she was doing, she turned, delivered cold harsh words - he could tell by how Draco's fists clenched - and stomped towards the clothes section where Gustavo stood waiting.

Draco meanwhile had taken the opportunity to look around the shop his mother so admired. He had vague memories of childhood here – waiting impatiently while his mother chose clothes and his father attended to business. Taking it all in, he noticed Blaise standing there observing him. He walked determinedly towards him , wondering why Blaise was here.

"Hello, Blaise!"

Blaise hated his confident aura that seemed to linger around him. Choosing to ignore the greeting, he gestured towards where the brunette stood with piles of clothes in her hand – talking to Gustavo.

"Who's your latest brainless conquest then?"

Blaise knew Draco well – he was a player and that surely hadn't disappeared since the war. He needed a pure-blooded trophy wife – Blaise knew Lucius and Narcissa would expect nothing less.

Draco's body had become tense by that simple question and he sent a subtle glare in Blaise's direction. He didn't have feelings for Hermione but that didn't mean that his 'friends' could insult his fiancé. He looked over to where Hermione stood laughing with Gustavo, who had placed his hand delicately on her arm.

A new emotion hit him – something he had never experienced. Damn these Zabinis! Remembering the conversation, Draco turned to Blaise's expectant look.

"Well she's not brainless, in fact she's –" He paused – should he tell Blaise who it was? Deciding to stay silent he walked towards Hermione.

He grasped her waist and nuzzled his head in her neck, as if to stake his claim. He hated the tingling feeling he felt every time he touched her. Urgh! He would need a cold shower to clear his head when he returned to the Manor.

"Hey, Gra-Hermione, found something you like?" He said, remembering that he would have to address her as one might address their fiancée. He whispered in her ear so that it would seem like he was whispering sweet nothings to her.

She quietly replied through clenched teeth.

"Not yet, but Gustavo said he would find something flattering for me."

Draco felt uneasy. He didn't like how Gustavo had so quickly become friends with Hermione. He remembered Gustavo from the summers spent at Zabini Manor and he had been quick to realise that Gustavo was a player. A quiet voice in his head reminded him that he was considered a player too.

Blaise watched from a distance. Walking up to her, he asked her whether he could offer his assistance.

There was silence, and then she turned to look at him. She studied his face thoughtfully for a second – as if she recognised him but couldn't put her finger on it. Her face seemed familiar – she had probably attended Hogwarts. She wasn't in their year – of that he was sure – he would surely remember someone as beautiful as her.

She seemed to get lost in his olive green eyes.

He watched out of the corner of his eye – a angry looking Draco.

She extended a perfectly manicured hand – complete with polished Malfoy engagement ring.

"Hello Zabini."

Realisation dawned on Blaise.

"Granger?" He choked out, in shock.


	6. Oh dear!

People say there's a fine line between love and hate – it's a muggle saying but after years of listening to Professor Burbage babble on about it, Draco had somehow begun to adopt it as his favourite quote.

Draco had always hated his parents, and everything they stood for. It was only after the war he realised how much truth that statement had. His parents had changed and he had come to love them like a son should. They had gotten over past differences and Draco felt for once there was no pain in his heart – as he had suffered through Hogwarts.

He wondered whether that quote applied to Hermione. He had begun calling her that in his treacherous mind – though he would never tell her so. He felt something already – it was not love of that he was sure. She was considerate, elegant and intelligent, but she deserved so much better than him.

He knew she did, yet he tied her to him with the help of a ring, anyway. All she wanted was solitary and peace. He saw her tears although she didn't want him to. She would wipe them away quickly – so that she wasn't classed as weak.

Draco wondered whether she realised how brave she was – to carry on with her life. She had lost friends in the war – she had suffered but she smiles anyway and pretends she's OK. She wears a mask – as he himself did.

It worried Draco that she might never trust him. He knew it took him a long time to get used to her and trust her. He had realised that she was his mate a long time ago but he had to get used to the idea before he had told her. A month, 2 weeks, 4 days, 5 hours, 25 minutes. That was how long it had taken him to tell her.

Hermione would never know that he had watched from the shadows for so long before telling her.

He hated how he felt – no other female had inspired such feelings in him – and that scared him. He thought he would never feel that way either but then along comes Hermione and his world changed. Her auburn curly locks and chocolate brunette eyes . . .

"She's beautiful!" Blaise's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Turning the way Blaise was looking, Draco nearly collapsed. He saw his sweet beauty. Her curls fell down on her tanned neck. She wore an emerald green dress- lined with silver sequins. Silver hemming lined the edges – where her dress ended – her knees.

Hermione smirked as she noted desire flash in Draco's eyes. It was there for a second then he smirked as well.

"Told you, you were a secret Slytherin, Hermione."

Disappointment lit her face as she smiled sadly, looking down at the dress.

Twirling, she asked,

"Is this appropriate to meet your parents in?"

Draco nodded.

Blaise watched this interaction thoughtfully. Draco never took girls to meet his parents. Well, dear Draco had obviously changed these last few years.

"My lady . . ." Blaise said, conjuring a rose and handing it to Hermione.

Hermione blushed prettily. Draco growled.

Blaise was awakening so many emotions – so many emotions he hated. And Hermione wasn't helping by blushing and smiling. Draco knew she would do nothing – she was acting like a giggling school girl. He stepped forward and said in a low voice,

"Have you not got work to do, Zabini? I doubt they pay you to flirt with customers."

Blaise smiled. Draco reacted immediately to a little flirting. How would he react to the plan that Blaise had in his head. If only Draco had worked harder in legilimency, he would know and could act. But Blaise had been the hard worker – Draco had natural talent and brains.

"Indeed, but an opportunity to speak to a lady such as Ms. Granger only comes ever so often."

Blaise's eyes dared Draco to challenge him. And Draco being the fool he was never did refuse a challenge. He suddenly turned to Hermione, wrapping his arm around her waist. He leaned forward placing a tender kiss on her cheek. Hermione turned beetroot red.

That was all Draco needed.

"Come on darling . . . We can stop at Fortescue's for ice cream."

Draco practically grabbed her and pulled her out of the shop, flinging his wallet at Blaise – succeeding in bruising him. The clothes Hermione had selected – a collection of skirts, robes and dresses – followed behind them as they walked.

"What was that about, Malfoy?" She asked angrily as soon as the cold air hit them.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said, carelessly.

Hermione stopped suddenly causing Draco to crash into her. Her face was pale as she raised a trembling hand.

"What? What, Hermione?" He wondered what could possibly have happened to have such an effect on Hermione. She stood still.

He turned to where she was staring. It was a bookshop. Draco nearly laughed – of course. He turned to Hermione, expecting to see her smiling but she wasn't. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

Once again she pointed. He edged closer to where she was pointing. He walked slowly toward whatever it was that could have scared Hermione so. It was the Daily Prophet.

There written in flashing ink with a large picture underneath was an article on them.

"Cheating Golden Trio member finds comfort in Malfoy Heir."

Oh dear!


	7. Threat

Rita Skeeter had always been nosy. She had been the Lavender of her day and was the quickest communication service in Hogwarts. She had guts - or so she thought- because she tackled the fiercest opponents. Not many had ever beaten her - except for one Hermione Granger - though she kept that quiet. For it was embarrassing that an 15 year old girl could beat a genius such as herself.

Placing her feet up on the desk, she sighed as she felt the familiar burn of firewhisky. She loved winning - it was no wonder that she had been a Slytherin. Sly and sneaky, she had been the only one from the Skeeter household to end up in Slytherin. Her _dear_ brother had ended up in Hufflepuff. Bah! She looked proudly at the front page of the Daily Prophet once again. Yes!

A commotion outside the room awoke her from her thoughts. Her harassed secret, Susan Bones, entered looking frazzled. Rita raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak. Susan seemed to falter for a second before she spoke once more.

"I tried to stop them but-" She was interrupted as the door opened again.

There she was. Hermione Granger stood at the door with a cold smirk resting on her face. She turned, seemed to beckon with her hand and there stood the shy looking Dennis Creevey.

Rita racked her brain to why his name was familiar. His brother was the head photographer for the Prophet. She looked at Dennis again. He stared defiantly back at her.

She disreguarded him; he was no threat.

"Dear, what did your muggle parents teach you? Do you not have manners? You were not . . . "

Rita waved her hand, indicating Hermione should leave.

Hermione smiled. Rita Skeeter had messed with the wrong woman today. She didn't move a muscle.

"Oh you poor child. When I wave my hand, I mean leave." Rita said deliberately trying to make Hermione feel stupid.

This was not a good idea. If there was one thing Hermione could not stand, it was an insult to her intelligence. She gestured to Dennis and he reached into his pocket and lifted what looked like a small stone. Hermione tapped it with her wand and it enlargened to a book, reading "Magical laws for a dummy." Dennis placed it onto the desk with a grin at Hermione.

"Now, Skeeter. I will ask the questions here. Like, what do you think it means when I place my wand on your abnormally large nose with words on the tip of my tongue?"

Rita paled. Whilst she could calmly write an article to bring down the downfall of the famous, she knew Granger had been exceptionally gifted as a witch - and things like that don't just disappear. She frantically looked for her wand - it had been on the desk . . .

Turning her head, she saw Susan twirling HER wand in her hands with a sneaky smile.

"Oh Skeeter! I know you are not particularly smart but its OK. I found a book that has lots of pictures in it to help you understand." She pointed to the book on the desk.

Rita shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Dennis, could you please read Chapter 4, Subsection 3, Paragraph 8?"

Dennis looked over at Hermione again. He loved the fact that she could bring the downfall of the annoying little bug - Rita had humiliated him many times - so it was no surprise he was so eager to aid Hermione.

"The ministry of magic has rights to control the Daily Prophet, should the writers of it, slander the name of a powerful figure - an employee of Ministry of Magic - with little or no evidence, with the aim of damaging the reputation of said figure. If this happens, then the figure has the right to appeal. The Daily Prophet shall thus have to revoke the article and fire employees that were connected to the offence."

Rita looked bemused.

"Oh - you don't get it. I'm sorry I should have got a children's book. Basically its sayi-"

"I get it!" Rita cut her off. "But you don't work for the Ministry. You are a healer and part-time book shop assistant."

Rita concluded triumphantly.

With a snap of her fingers, Hermione accioed the Prophet that lay on the desk. Rita looked on in astonishment at the skill Hermione demonstrated - wandless and silent! Hermione ignored her and turned to Dennis.

"Would you read the headline to me?"

"Cheating Golden Trio member finds comfort in Malfoy Heir."

Rita turned a sickly colour.

"Malfoy. . ." She muttered.

With her last strength, Rita protested once more,

"But it says the Ministry figure appeals. It doesn't say anything about nosy little cheats."

Hermione reddened in anger.

"_Now get this into your head. Ron cheated. I moved on._"

Rita smirked; she waved her hand and her Quick Quotes quill came to life from where it had been lying on the desk.

"Can I quote you on that?"

Hermione's fist clenched. Rita realised she shouldn't anger her - Hermione held all the cards.

"Moving on. Unless you are under Polyjuice Potion, you cannot appeal and have me fired."

Hermione looked at her watch. Any minute now. She turned to the door and it opened.

"Draco, you got my owl?"

He nodded.

"Just five minutes ago. I had to run to make the time."

It was unfair he still managed to look so good after rushing to Prophet building.

Hermione smiled serenely as she looked him over. Draco Malfoy had changed - she realised that. She knew it when he had comforted her after her seeing the newspaper. He had let her cry on his shoulder and had had held her tight.

Rita watched the interaction thoughtfully. Without knowing it, Hermione's smile had convinced Rita that this relationship was indeed 'real'. And being the gossip she was, she would make sure everyone knew that, regardless of whether she got fired.

Draco extended a parchment.

"This is your notice. I suggest you start packing up and they asked you for their company owl and your uniform back."

Rita blinked. It was amazing how everything could go wrong so quickly.

Draco turned and walked out.

"I'll wait for you outside, Hermione."

Hermione smiled at how he said her first name. They seemed to have reached an agreement.

"Oh and Rita, you're lucky you aren't in Azkaban. Did you think that the Ministry had the only records of Animagus? Remember, Hermione Granger is always prepared." And she smiled a cold smile before sweeping out of the room.

Seeing Dennis was still there, she went and thanked him for his involvement. They talked and were saying bye until she felt someone's prescence behind her.

Draco had appeared at her shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist, instictively - protectively. Dennis walked away - giving them space.

"You are a closet Slytherin, Hermione." He said with a smirk.

She smiled, and didn't deny it.

Together they walked out, happy and content in each other's prescence for the first time in a long time.


	8. Grudges

It is easy for most to be terrified when faced with a memory of a traumatic experience - indeed you are expected to be. They say a soldier trembles when returning from the war ; they overlook the rarity of a soldier who doesn't - a soldier who loves the thrill.

Sadly Hermione Granger was not a rarity in that sense. She hated war and more of all she hated the threat she felt. The feeling of being a pawn in a game - not in control. Perhaps that was why more often then not she was her bossy self. She liked power - and though she was told that that was a Slytherin way of looking at things, she was inclcined to disagree.

They say money is the root of all evil, but Hermione, being the intelligent witch she was, had quickly realised that it was in fact power. Sure, money was a form of power but murder wasn't done for money - no, it could be for revenge or to settle a deal - but murderers did love the control they had over their victim.

Hermione Granger would never admit it but in that way she could sympathise with Malfoy Senior. She too liked the feel of power and she knew it must have taken a lot for Lucius to settle into the role of minion to the Dark Lord.

That however didn't stop that fear she felt as she stood quaking in front of Malfoy Manor, Draco's arm securely wrapped her around her waist.

Shivering, she remembered the last time she had been here - during the war, being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange.

Draco seemed to remember as well - he moved closer.

"It'll be okay, Mya." He whispered.

Draco had quickly adopted a nick name after they had become 'friends'. Hermione smiled at the thought. They hadn't fought at all for so long and surprisingly she liked this Draco.

She looked at the Manor intently.

With its tall towers, that vines wrapped around, it's tiny elegant windows and the romantic spires, it looked exactly like a castle from a fairytale. Some white peacocks roamed in the grounds and it looked so beautiful and picturesque. Hermione couldn't stop staring at it, and for a moment she forgot her fears.

The silver gates clanged open. Standing there at the entrance was the elusive Mr. Malfoy, his arm resting on Mrs Malfoy's shoulders. They both stared without emotion at her and she could almost feel the dislike radiating in the air.

Draco took her hand and pulled her towards them.

"Father,Mother," He said nodding his head in their direction."this is my fiance and mate, Hermione Granger."

Narcissa Malfoy smiled kindly. Lucius watched her, keenly.

Hermione extended her hand, but was wrestled into a hug by Narcissa.

"Ms. Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you again."

Hermione smiled coldly.

"Except this time you aren't threatening me with a wand. . . yet. Tell me, how does it feel to know I am muggleborn - and the only possible bearer of a Malfoy heir?"

Draco placed a hand on her arm, in warning as Lucius stiffened.

"Indeed, you talk about prejudice, Ms. Granger, but fail to see how prejudiced you yourself are."

Hermione froze.

Narcissa giggled childishly.

"Come now Lu, don't scare the child. Come, children, I have a feast prepared."

She walked towards the hall. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn't. Even if her fiance was the same man who had watched her be tortured and hadn't done anything - even if she had the teeniest, miniscule crush on him.

She nearly laughed - she felt like a school girl again. Obsessing over one boy and dreaming about him . . .

"Hermione, dear, tell me more about your ambitions."

Narcissa was talking to her.

"Well, I am a healer and part-time worker at a bookshop. I am currently working on a cure for lycanthorpy."

Lucius straightened.

"My brother would be glad of that. He is a werewolf and thus disowned from the Malfoy family. He wishes for acceptance or a cure."

Hermione smiled - even ground.

She talked on and Lucius listened interestedly, adding a comment in every now and then.

Draco and Narcissa exchanged glances and simultaneously grinned - what had they been worried about?

* * *

Lucius couldn't help but smile. This was a rarity but Hermione inspired that warm fuzzy feeling. A feeling of family. He had had not much experience of being part of a family. Abraxas held him at arm's length - recognising an heir, a mindless follower to regulate.

So what if she was muggle-born? He had long since relinquished bad feelings against muggles, and he was glad to do so. He had suffered during his childhood for his beliefs and Draco would not - not by his own hand.

Lucius smiled again as Hermione walked towards him.

"I have something for you."

Hermione grinned and said,

"What?"

"A key to the Malfoy Ltd. potion laboratory. It is yours and a job as head of department as well - should you accept it."

Hermione frowned. So did Lucius upon seeing her reaction.

"I do so many jobs already."

Lucius smirked - looking so much like Draco, that it scared Hermione.

" It will settle around your other jobs. You devote so much time to this lycanthorpy cure, you have somewhere to do it now - instead of in your kitchen sink."

"Thank you, Lucius."

Hermione tackled him in a hug, which he returned after a moment.

She extended her hand for the key. And he dropped it into the palm of her hand with a grin.

And with that, Hermione Granger got over a grudge she had harboured for a decade of her life.


	9. Being nice: EXTRA chapter

Lavender Brown had always been considered pretty. She would have no trouble turning a few heads walking down the street. And she was fairly intelligent; she did have 8 OWLS. She would have got around 5 NEWTS, had she chosen to return to Hogwarts, but she hadn't, preferring to pursue a career at Madam Malkins.

Considering all this, Lavender could understand why Ron would ditch Hermione for her. She had always liked Hermione - and she didn't deserve to be cheated on by Ron. Hermione had always been so loyal and had saved Lavender's life during the war. But she was in love and as they say all's fair in love and war.

She knew Ron only wanted what he couldn't have and that was why he even tolerated her. When they had dated in sixth year he had made that quite clear. He hated her childish giggling and her inability to follow simple instructions.

She remembered clearly when she had cried and asked why he had kissed her then. She remembered even better what his cutting answer had been.

"Because you're an easy lay."

He had suddenly awoken, hugged her, said he was sorry. But Lavender knew, deep down, it was the truth. Still she let him treast like dirt one minute, and a queen the next.

She almost laughed at the next thought. Am I a closet sadomasochist?

She hugged her knees and snuggled into the covers. Turning her head, she saw the still sleeping ginger - Ron.

Looking over at the prophet, she wondered whether Ron was already aware of his ex-girlfriend's new relationship. She couldn't try to hide her happiness. Hermione had found love - you could see her face in the picture. Lavender had less competition for Ron's heart.

Tenderly she wiped a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

She sighed.

Whether or not he left her, it was good whilst it lasted.

* * *

Harry Potter had loved and did love only two women in his life, his darling Ginny and his best friend - his sister, if not by blood, Hermione. Harry Potter was loving man - a caring man - if at times foolishly brave. And whilst he had many friends - he had exactly as many enemies.

Draco Malfoy, Voldemort, all the death-eaters except for the Order spies. There were times when his wand itched to Avada Kedavra them but then what would the difference between them be? After the war, he had pursued the job of Auror. He would seek justice - justice for all those courageous men and women who had been killed, murdered fighting for their lives.

It was at this point his moral thinking had to pause because there were many complications, for instance Hermione and Malfoy falling in love. Now Harry knew Ron had long since been breaking ties with the Weasley family.

Soon it was only Ginny that associated with Ron and that too only for Hermione's sake. Harry loved Hermione, and Ron had always been his best friend but Harry understood his best friend was no longer there. He had left when and since he cheated on Hermione.

Now it was left to Harry to decide what was bigger, more important - his love for Hermione or his hate for , he made his decision - it was not difficult.

He picked up a quill and scribble a letter.

He whistled and Hedwig look-a-like Breeze, named by Ginny, appeared at the window.

He handed the letter over, instructing the owl to take the letter to Hermione.

If she said yes to the question in the letter, Harry and Ginny would be entertaining guests for dinner.


	10. The kiss

Draco Malfoy had battle death-eater, suffered 10 tampered with Bludgers and a moody pregnant Pansy, but nothing prepared him for the tame white owl that clutched a letter adressed to him.

Tentatively he opened it - wondering what he would find inside.

' To Draco,

I got a letter today - from Harry. He invited us to dinner to get to know the you better. I know you have disliked him in the past. Hated him even. But he's my friend - just as you are.'

Here Draco paused. He wasn't sure what to feel. He felt happy that she regarded him as a friend, but upset - he wished to be more. He continued reading.

'So I ask you to come with me, please? [insert cheesy smile] .I guess it might be asking too much .. . but Breeze (the owl) is biting my fingers so here you go.

Hermione.

He placed the letter carefully on the desk – lightly running his fingers over her name..

His head pounded. He would go – if only to see her beaming smile when she saw him try to be friends with her friends. Once again he realised he liked her – like he was a teenager again – waiting to go on his first date.

A hoot from the owl awakened Draco from his thoughts. Taking a quill,he wrote in cursive letters,

"Yes,I'll be there."

With a smile, he folded the letter, stroked the owl and gave it the envelope. A flutter of wings and it left.

Draco grinned – he had an hour to get ready and then he would see Hermione. At Potter's house.

It was clear he didn't live in Utopia.

* * *

The kitchen was hot and delicious smells wavered through the door and open window. Ginny Weasley rushed to and fro from the saucepan to the wok. She had inherited her mother's tremendous cooking ability – and this was proving useful.

With a glance at the time, she saw it was 6 O'Clock. She rushed upstairs to get ready.

She discarded the dresses that didn't fit anymore and stepped into her scarlet dress, formerly baddy which now fit perfectly.

She grinned at the Potter clock. Harry was coming home.

* * *

Hermione paced in her living room. She anxiously checked her watch - where was Draco? It was 6:15. A knock on the door told Hermione that he had arrived.

She walked to the door and opened it.

Draco looked her up and down. His jaw dropped. She looked amazing.

She was wearing a white one shoulder knee-length white dress - that was fitted like a corset at the top before flaring out. She had on a simple diamond necklace and in her hand she clutched matching earrings. She wore high-heeled white sandles that made her taller but nowhere near his height.

She smiled at him and his knees nearly gave out.

He suddenly seemed to realise that he hadn't said anything and was looking like an idiot because he stopped and hesistantly handed her the red rose he had bought on his way there.

She gasped and nearly fell backwards.

He reached out to her and wrapped his arms around her.

He smirked.

"Well at least you didn't faint this time."

"Thanks for coming - I thought you wouldn't come."

He smiled gently.

"Malfoys don't go back on their words."

She took out her cloak and then smiled again, taking his arm.

"I'll side apparate us to their house - you don't know where they live do you?"

And with a pop, they disapparated.

* * *

The house was quite modern - it fitted into central london but you could tell something was different. It wasn't small, Draco noted that if it was on sale it would be around half a million. At the window, sat Harry.

Draco hadn't seen him since the war. He didn't realise he had stopped walking until Hermione gently placed a hand on his arm.

"Come on." She whispered - her warm breath felt comforting against the biting air.

She moved closer to him and he wrapped an arm around her waist - they had to pretend to be in love - and her soft skin felt good against his own.

With a confident smirk, he took her hand and knocked on the door.

A red faced Ginny appeared. Draco had only a chance to glance at her before she was engulfed in a tight hug by Hermione.

"I missed you. You look gorgeous! You have the pregnancy glow."

Draco bit his lip to not comment. A nudge from Hermione told Draco to remember his manners.

"Congratulations, Weasley." He said in a monotone.

A sharp glare from Hermione. Time to use his Malfoy charm.

"I'm sure the baby will be just as beautiful as you."

Ginny blushed.

"Come in, Draco. Harry will be down in a minute - he's putting James to bed."

With a grin, Draco walked into the house.

Hermione shook her head - he was such a flirt.

Ginny smiled,

"He's a keeper, all right! Show me your ring!"

With a tiny smile, Hermione extended her hand.

"You know, Mione I would never have guessed you would end up with Malfoy. Everyone thought it would be you and Ron forever."

Hermione stiffened.

"Don't take this the wrong way - but I am so glad you got rid of Ron. He's such an arse."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by yells coming from the living room. They recognised the voices. They both felt despair at their other halves - they couldn't even get over their childish rivalry for once.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances before rushing off into the house shutting the door behind them.

The sight they saw was terrible - it hinted the apocalypse was coming.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were sitting on the couch and yelling.

But not at each other. They were yelling at the TV that had been charmed to air Quidditch matches.

Ginny grinned at the expression of disgust on Hermione's face.

What was it with men and Quidditch? **  
**

* * *

Draco smiled so much his cheek ached. He sat down at the dining table.

"Food looks delicious Ginny! Um . . what is it?"

It looked exotic.

"Stir fry - my style, so basically drowned in soya sauce. And that's chilli chicken sauce."

Hermione grinned as Draco poked at it.

"I might have grown up amongst the best chef's in the world but I have never eaten this before."

Hermione patted his arm.

"It won't kill you, Draco. I bet you'll like it and I can make it for you."

Draco liked the image. It made him feel like Hermione was more than a friend - like a girlfriend. That was before he remembered she was acting.

He smirked, trying to hide his real feelings.

"What and give me food poisoning? If I like it,I'll make it for you."

He sampled the food.

"Tastes as good as it looks."

Harry smiled at Ginny proudly.

"And that is why I keep her around."

Ginny poked him and Harry grimaced.

"Don't mess with pregnant women, Potter - thought you would have learnt it first time round."

They continued the teasing like friends.

* * *

"Remember that time you punched Malfoy, Mione." Harry said with a laugh.

Hermione smiled.

"What time is it, Gin?"

Ginny twisted around to look at the clock.

"11 O'Clock. Wait - 11 O'Clock! I have a checkup in the morning."

Hermione stood up quickly.

"We'll get out of your way. Where's my cloak, Gin?"

Ginny stood up and left the room with Hermione.

There was an awkward silence as Draco and Harry realised they were by themselves.

"Pot-"

"Mal-"

They spoke at the same time.

Harry went first.

"Malfoy, you make Hermione happy. We might not have liked each other but I am going to try - and today wasn't bad. But, Hermione is like my sister."

Harry paused, causing Malfoy to question the truth behind that statement.

"Don't hurt her - otherwise I have the right to hurt you."

Draco smiled solemnly.

"I hurt her - I'll do it for you."

Harry laughed.

"Please don't - I am going to enjoy hurting you!"

The click of heels stopped them talking. They both stood up.

Hermione stood there smiling.

"Ready to go?"

He nodded at Harry, hugged Ginny and took Hermione's arm.

With a pop, they disapparated.

* * *

Draco and Hermione stood outside her house door.

"Dra-"

"Her-"

They stopped and blinked.

"You first."

They said in unison.

Hermione smiled. Draco bent his head down as if to listen intently.

"Draco, you and Harry have never been friends. But you are trying - for me. Thank you so much."

She moved forward to place a kiss on his cheek but as fate would have it he raised his head at that exact moment.

Her lips crashed down on his and she lost herself in this bliss. Suddenly she jerked. She turned a shake of her head she ran inside and banged the door shut. She fell to the ground relishing in the feelings she had felt, and she didn't know Draco was mimicking her actions on the other side of the door.

They had no worries in the world at that moment.

Little did they know, someone was planning their demise.


	11. Tense

Hermione Granger was many things. A bookworm, a woman, a Hogwarts graduate, a witch but she would never admit that though she was in Gryffindor, she was also a coward - deep,deep down. Somewhere in the depths of space, Hermione Granger was a cowardly idiot. She sighed.

She had now successfully been avoiding Draco for days. She corrected herself - she wasn't avoiding him - she was simply studiously not attending or going to areas or parties where he would be.

It was stupid and immature but Hermione couldn't face him - let alone think about him - without turning red. She hated this - she was brave - a war hero - yet she was scared of a platinum blond governor.

She sighed, before checking the messages on her phone.

A familiar voice spoke.

_"Hi, Hermione. Are you avoiding me ? I need to speak to you."_

Draco . . Wait, Draco?

How had he used a muggle phone? And more importantly, how had he got her number?

She was still contemplating this when her phone rang.

On the screen, popped up in bold letters ' Number not recognised.' She paused wondering who it could be.

She picked it up.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson was not a slut. She refused to be defiled by the majority of the wizarding population - people who didn't even know her. She was a married woman - a virgin on her wedding night - and pregnant with said husband's heir.

Be that as it may - she had never got along with the prissy pureblooded girls - who felt it was their duty to pop out babies as soon as they graduated Hogwarts. She thanked God, that her parents were not that pushy. It was remarkable she had found friends who agreed with her - Draco and Blaise, for instance.

Being the play-boys they were known as meant that it was partially that that fuelled the rumours that Pansy was a slut. She smiled for a moment. She remembered the infatuation she had had with them - but that had long since gone - soon after she properly met Theodore Nott - her future husband.

She grinned as she remembered how happy she had been on her wedding day - although neither her mother nor her father turned up since Theo was a half-blood.

They had got married at the Registrar office - with only Draco and Millicent as witnesses - Blaise having been long gone. She could not have imagined a better wedding. She was not an extravagant spender, and she loved the simplicity of the wedding.

She placed a hand on her stomach as she felt the baby kick. A knock on the door told her Theo was home.

She toddled towards the door. It was remarkable how the baby could sense his father was home.

With a grin, she kissed Theo.

She was happy - Draco was finally settling down - and any girl that could do that was a great one.

They were coming for dinner today - Hermione and Draco.

Pansy and Hermione had been friends - after the Yule ball. It was strange how they had become friends after their own hearts had been hurt by boys they loved. They had never spoken except for Hermione's soft ' We're better than them.'

Blaise was coming too - she had found him again, working at the Kitty Rin's Royal Designers shop.

Pansy sincerely hoped to get Blaise to settle down - with Millicent who she had invited to dinner as well. Millicent Bulstrode was no longer the chunky teen she had been at Hogwarts - she was slim, attractive and sure to turn a few heads.

With a sigh, she rushed to the kitchen, to check on the food, leaving Theo to change.

* * *

Draco tapped impatiently on the desk in front of him as he waited for her to pick up. He had bought a phone, after Harry had explained what it was. Harry had told him Hermione's number as well. Draco liked the idea of speaking to her whether she was at her house or not.

He pondered about creating a Wiz-Phone. He had the money after all.

He knew she was probably feeling awkward about the kiss - after all it wasn't like she wanted him to be to kiss her. It was just inappropiate timing - and it didn't matter if he couldn't help but dwell on those soft pink lips . . .

'_Stop_!' He commanded himself.

He wondered what she would say about going to meet Pansy. They had never got along very well, as far as he knew. He knew that Theo had been a geek at Hogwarts so Hermione probably liked him then.

He stopped as he heard a hesistant voice speak on the other end.

"Hello? Please may I know who's speaking."

"Hermione. . . Its me, Draco. Listen - no, don't end the call. Pansy invited us to her house today. I said 'Yes.' Look I know you never got along but as I tried with Potter can you try too?"

He waited - the silence taunting him.

* * *

Hermione grinned, all thoughts about the kiss vanishing.

A chance to see Pansy again - and become friends with her.

Pansy had been a pureblood and with the war approaching they had never pursued the friendship. She was sure she would get along with Pansy. But that didn't mean she had to tell Draco that. It would be a good idea to keep him on his toes - ready for a fight at any moment.

"I will try." She said, adding emphasis to try. She wondered whether she really should become an actor. She was good at all this pretending.

She got practically hear Draco's grin as he replied.

"That is all I ask! See you later."

Hermione grinned again as she ended the phone call. She looked over at the calendar, the wedding was in 2 weeks and she found herself imagining it. It was going to be officiated by Kingsley with only a few friends attending.

She couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, marriage with Draco Malfoy wouldn't be that bad.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she edged towards her wardrobe, to find the perfect dress.

* * *

Draco knocked impatiently on the door.

_'Women!' _He thought exasperatedly. Even his fiance, Hogwart's former resident bookworm was just as bad with the getting ready thing. She had probably prepared for hours yet still wasn't done.

He leaned against the door, trying to look suave, as some giggling women walked by the house.

Unfortunately it was not to be, as the door opened, and he feel through landing in a huddle on the floor.

An amused Potter stood towering above him, before extending his hand, to lift him up.

Draco reddened - what was Potter doing here?

Harry took his hands and using them in a calming gesture.

"Calm down, mate. I'm only here because Hermione made the mistake of telling Ginny about the party. Ginny then proceeded to drag her whole wardrobe here to find something sexy but not too sexy for Hermione."Harry rambled.

Footsteps came down the stairs, causing Draco to snap around so fast, that he clicked his neck. He was sadly disappointed as he saw it was Ginny.

Ginny smiled wickedly.

"Don't look so happy to see me - Hermione might get jealous."

Draco stopped soothing his neck, and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

"Sorry . ."

Ginny waved away his apology.

"She looks beautiful. Hermione, come down - stop being so conscious."

A click of heels and Hermione stood at the top of the stairs.

His jaw dropped and his knees gave out. How did she manage to look more beautiful every time?

She looked like a sexy angel that had descended from the heavens.

She was dressed in a formfitting knee length white dress, that two layers. A soft floaty material covered up the white dress - almost like lace. It was a one-shouldered dress - that gave a hint of cleavage without looking slutty.

The look was completed with mussed hair, white heels and a small white clutch. His eyes raked over her curves. God, this girl was driving him insane.

Hermione smiled coyly.

"My eyes are up here, Malfoy."

He raised his eyes to her face, wrapping his arms around her waist - forgetting their audience.

"You look stunning, Mya."

He paused,suddenly remembering the Potters.

With a small nod at both,he extended his arm.

"Shall we, my lady?"

Hermione smiled angelically, accepting the offered arm.

"We shall."

And they flooed to Pansy's house.

* * *

Hermione gasped as she saw the Nott Manor. Though not as intimidating or beautiful as Malfoy Manor, it held a beauty that she had read about in fairy tales. It was picturesque and looked more like a castle than anything.

There was a stone path leading up to the house, and music filled the house. It seemed the party had already started.

With a small smile at Draco, she walked towards the house. She tapped the knocker against the door thrice.

The door opened and there stood a pregnant Pansy.

She was engulfed in a hug immediately. With a smirk, she glanced at the open-mouthed Draco.

He didn't say anything at all for a moment, before muttering under his breath.

"Closet Slytherin."

Hermione grinned before turning to Pansy.

"It's so nice to see you again."

Pansy nodded.

"Come on in! I want to introduce you to my husband, Theo."

Hermione smiled.

"I know him well - we were project partners in Hogwarts."

Pansy grinned as she gestured to a pretty girl talking to Theo.

"Hermione, meet Millicent."

Hermione grinned.

"Well you've changed." She remembered the bulky girl who had always been alone at Hogwarts.

Hermione liked how they had all changed. She liked meeting new people. The war had affected them all. She was just 21 but she felt older. They all did. Millicent Bulstrode was just another of the victims and so Hermione accepted her.

Pansy grinned again.

"Oh and I almost forgot, Blaise Zabini."

The tension in the room heightened.


	12. Invisiears

Hermione's head raised up quickly. Blaise was standing in the doorway, with mussed hair, his hands in his pockets nonchantly and looking utterly kissable. Hermione couldn't help but sigh at the unfairness of the world - he might be a stuck up git but he was gorgeous. His green eyes were bright and beautiful - full of life and laughter. She could swim in them but it wasn't like Blaise needed an ego boost so she turned away sighing.

Just because she was sexually attracted to him, didn't mean that she could pursue a relationship. She was engaged - and it felt wrong even thinking about another guy, when she had a week till her wedding. It was going to be a small wedding - his parents and the Potters. She couldn't help but be amazed that she wasn't recoiling at the thought of marrying Draco.

_'Draco . . .'_ She involuntarily shivered. His name sounded so good, even in her head. Her head tilted as she suddenly remembered that Draco and Blaise didn't get along.

And she was not disappointed, when she looked up to see that they were having a heated hushed argument in the corner of the room whilst the rest of the occupants of the room watched on curiously, wondering what they were talking about.

With a tentative smile, Hermione searched in her bag for Fred and George's latest invention. Invisi-Ears - they were exactly the same as extendable ears except invisible. Using wandless and silent magic, she directed the ear close to the arguing men, keeping the other end secure in her hand.

There was a second of interference - similar to that of telephones before it cleared up.

" . . .keep her safe. Remember I am to marry her."

Draco was saying.

Blaise was silent for a minute and turned a pale red.

"Hermione, how do you feel about it?"

Millicent was saying.

Hermione tried to recollect the conversation before. They had been talking about jobs and elf rights. So it must have been something about that law that said that elves should be sent to prison for not obeying their masters.

"I feel it's outrageous - impossible. How can they do that?"

Hermione replied, hoping it was cryptic enough to not raise suspicion.

"Well, you've changed - haven't you Hermione? I remember in fourth year, you fought for elf rights. And now you think that sick leave for them is outrageous?"

Millicent smiled, before looking at Hermione curiously.

Suddenly Blaise's voice pounded in her ear.

"Either you tell her or I will."

Hermione turned to Millicent and Pansy and lowered her voice as she removed the Invisi-Ears and put them in her bag.

"Sorry, I was listening in on Draco and Blaise's conversation - with these Invisi-Ears."

They looked puzzled for a moment before laughing.

"I should get one of these. I agree with Draco; you are a Slytherin at heart, Hermione Granger."

Hermione smiled before letting them continue the conversation.

She couldn't help but be curious - what did Draco not want her to know?

She returned to the conversation, that nagging doubt that Draco had a secret in the back of her mind.

* * *

Theo had always hated babysitting. He knew he should get used to babies because of his soon to be son, but he couldn't help it. His wife's friends were quite frankly irritating. They were meant to be his age yet they acted like two year olds.

He looked longing at where Pansy sat talking to Millicent and Hermione. As if sensing his annoyance, she gave a pitying smile and a little wave before turning back to the conversation. He couldn't help but notice that Millicent was the one speaking whilst both Pansy and Hermione looked over at the whispering Blaise and Draco.

He looked at the time - desperately willing the clock to go faster. It didn't.

He was hungry and fed up of the toddlers currently occupying the couch. He sent a begging look at Pansy, who stood and told the women something.

He smiled. Only an hour till he was rid of them.

"Dinner!" Pansy said, as she waved her wand to set the table.

Millicent and Pansy sat down on one side, but Hermione - who now wanted to talk to Theo, sat on the opposite side of the table in the corner, with only one chair, intended for Theo, next to her.

Theo smiled as he edged towards the chair, only to realise he had competition in occupying that space.

Draco and Blaise were wearing identical smirks. With a grin, Theo lay back to watch the show.

There was a scramble for the chair before they both landed on it - Blaise on Draco's lap.

"I'm sorry, Blaise. I don't swing that way."

Blaise reddened - his olive skin darkening. He stood up quickly - waiting to steal the chair as Draco stood to dust imaginary lint.

Theo sensed an argument and quickly edged into the seat before he could be reprimanded for trying to create trouble by Pansy. He didn't need an hormonal outburst right now.


	13. Isabella

Hermione ate quickly, before heading to wash her hands in the rest room. The water gushing out of the tap meant she didn't hear the argument for a while.

"I told you to tell her. She deserves to know. Stop lying to her!" It was Blaise and he was yelling.

Hermione edged closer to the room - the door was shut. Her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her.

"I am not lying to her - I am simply biding my time and then I'll tell her." Draco.

They were talking about her - she knew it. Didn't that mean she had a right to eavesdrop? She walked closer still.

"What! Biding your time. I will tell her. She has to know." Blaise spoke, and he sounded angry.

"And this has nothing to do with your feelings for her? Might I remind you she is my fiancé."

And there was the only confirmation she needed to carry on listening in.

"The only feelings I have for her are not romantic in the least. You met Isabella. You knew her. Hermione needs to know that she has a choice. That she can have any man she wishes but you can't have any woman. You are being a selfish git."

Her bag dropped, in shock. There was silence, and then a mad scramble on the other side of the door. It banged open and Draco stood there, his eyes wide open, in surprise. He hesitantly stumbled towards was crying.

"Don't touch me." She said, in between sobs.

She ran down the stairs picking up her cloak at the door.

"Sorry, Pans. I'll call you."

She rushed out the door, running to the apparation point. She disappeared with a pop, leaving Draco watching in disbelief.

* * *

It is difficult to find somebody who has never cried in their life. But Draco was one of them. Apart from once in sixth year, he had never cried. Perhaps it was pent-up pressure, perhaps it was the feeling of loss that had been inflicted on him, but he was crying for the second time in his life.

It was unlike Draco to cry - and never over a girl. But everybody cracks and breaks - because we are human.

And in that lonely flat Draco lived in, he was crying. Over Hermione Granger. Someone who he had spent his school life hating.

He didn't seem to think that exactly 30 miles away, a Miss Hermione Granger was doing the same thing.

* * *

The thing about tears is that you find it hard to stop when you have started. But eventually they too dry up to prevent the risk of dehydration. In every heartbreak you go through many steps - the tears, the hurt, watching sad movies and the last stage - the anger. It was not difficult for Hermione to feel anger.

She was angry at Draco - but even more angry at herself for thinking he had finally grown up - now she knew, he would never grow up. She paused, contemplating her options. She knew eventually she would end up wanting to save his life - ah the woes of a kind hearted person.

Thank god for Blaise! She wondered what she could do to thank him. Whether or not, Draco succeeded in getting her to marry him - Blaise deserved kindness in return for all he had done for her. He had argued against his one-time best friend for her.

With the wedding in a week, they had a press conference tomorrow, where they would admit to being engaged and to getting married. They were going to announce it at a Minstry Charity ball - that seemed convenient - especially if they went as dates but Hermione couldn't help but wonder whether it would be carried out now.

Hermione looked up at the time. It was 11pm and she was tired. She found herself drifting off to sleep with images of Draco in her pounding head. She would have a headache when she woke up.

* * *

Blaise was tired of this. He cared about Hermione, and did not however care for what he inspired between Draco and Hermione. He was only trying to be a friend. And Draco, though he had matured, was still a Slytherin.

He had always been offended when people thought that because Blaise was the quiet one, he was also the stupid one. No, the Slytherin idiots had always been Crabbe and Goyle.

She might as well marry the Albino, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't know Draco's character. Hermione had always been unattainable to the Slytherins, but Blaise had recognised within her something that resounded in his own family. Isabella - his sister, had she survived her childhood, would have been Hermione's age at this point.

Draco was known to drift and knowing Hermione, she would get her own back. She had never liked to be the weak woman role that pureblood soceity seemed to expect of her.

Blaise couldn't help but wonder what his life would be like if he was in Draco's place. He would have held onto Hermione and got rid of the competition. Draco was too weak to do that - but that didn't mean Blaise himself wasn't.

He grinned - yes, he was a Slytherin all right - and not just by family or blood.

He paused, Hermione would want to thank him probably. Gryffindors always did. They had to be loyal and sweet and _nice_. He lay down in bed, his over-active brain pondering how it would all work out.


	14. And the world crashes

Draco had always hated fairytales. There was always a good guy and a bad guy. A villian and a hero. The thing was when Draco had been younger, he had actually liked being the bad guy - but it didn't go very far, did it?

The fact was that being the good guy got you the most rewards, the most smiles and most importantly, you got the girl. He wanted to justify himself - and he would do it in the only way he knew how.

Gifts.

There were perks to being ridiculously rich.

Besides, he would have told Hermione eventually.

That there was a potion for the pain that she could take - that she could choose any guy she wanted and that she wouldn't feel the pain too.

Hermione would probably have stayed anyway - she never did like people to suffer. But his small mistake had fueled her leaving and though he didn't tell her he had had more pain attacks over that night then in the last month.

Her birthday was in three weeks - same as their wedding.

She would submit to his charms by then hopefully. She had to marry him, for his sake. She had always been stubborn though. She might not. The worries he felt were irritating him.

Draco wondered whether Hermione would still go with him to the ball. Well, of course, she would - he put away his foolish thoughts. It was much too late to find another date now.

Draco looked at the room in which he sat - it was his home office. It was full of empty fire-whiskey bottles. He had intended to get wasted tonight, to prepare himself to have the courage for the press conference to announce Hermione and his' 'relationship.' It would take place shortly after the ball, where they would make the announcement.

He was not a Gryffindor that was certain as he took another bottle and unscrewed the lid, before promptly passing out from too much alcohol. He would have a hangover when he woke up.

* * *

Blaise was on a date, with a beautiful woman. And her name was Luna Lovegood. On the day that he had bumped into Hermione again, Luna had also popped in the morning. She had left an order, intending to return later.

But she did not return, and the order of a strange bright green dress had been placed into custody. It was thus that Luna had asked Blaise, who happened to be the only one on duty to return it to her, and she boldly asked him out.

It was Luna who after much deliberation opened up his heart to the idea of caring for a woman as a sister.

And it was she who he confided his hatred and regret in.

They sat there, the quiet Slytherin and the outcast Ravenclaw with cups of butterbeer placed on the bar. Together they talked and he confided in her all the perks and sadness.

How he had lost his sister when she had fallen ill and their mother wasn't present.

How their mother was not worthy of having children, and had them only to keep her clutches in the rich men she married.

He had almost cried, and she understanding that this man needed an excuse had suggested that the Nargles were bothering him. She had offered him a handkerchief and settled down, letting him have the privacy he relished.

It was an hour later when she made her excuses and he promised to return to her once more.

The broken Slytherin was silent and pensive, ordering another butterbeer, simply so he didn't have to leave. At 4 pm, Malfoy walked into the inn, ordering a fire whiskey.

Seeing his old friend, Blaise bubbled with regrets.

He was a Slytherin. It was in his nature to achieve what he wanted in a way that might not have appealed to those with stronger senses of morality.

"Malfoy."

"Zabini."

They were both silent, before Malfoy spoke once more.

"Why are you so protective of her?" Malfoy knew why he was so, but he insisted on having his suspicions confirmed. And Blaise realising this, offered him the seat that Luna had sat at barely an hour ago.

"You knew Isabella. My sister. The problem with pureblood society, as I'm sure you are aware, is that they do not respect girls. My mother wanted only sons, and even then, I was a disappointment."

Blaise smiled wistfully.

"You know better than most, Malfoy. Your father strived for perfection too, did he not?" Blaise continued. "Isabella was a bother and I'm sure you know that she was killed, by an old stepfather. Who then killed himself rather than face the kiss of the Dementors."

"Hermione is unblemished. Do not hurt her. She is too much like Isabella."

Blaise stood, placing a galleon on the table, more than enough to pay for his own drinks and Draco's. Somehow Draco knew that Blaise had made his peace.

Blaise turned, walking out of the inn.


	15. Being happy and other emotions

She was meant to be sad. Almost like she was in mourning. Like she should be wearing black and cowering in the shadows and keeping her head bent - the tear tracks from yesterday still present on her cheeks. And most definitely _not_ laughing and going out with friends.

She couldn't help it. She hated the betrayal but that didn't mean she couldn't find comfort. Hot chocolate and television was most definitely the best comforter ever. Was that a word?

For a minute, Hermione wondered whether she was losing brain cells by all this laughing she was doing. She quickly dismissed the idea, before turning back to the TV that was on the wall of the cafe, where an old man was relating a funny story about how he had pranked his mother when he was younger.

Luna had been studiously avoiding the D-word. No, not darn or damn but Dra-

She stopped herself - this was meant to be a day where she ignored that a platinum haired idiot had ever existed.

Frankly she knew she was being stupid. They had the press conference tomorrow. She would have to speak with him. But a few D-free hours would do her good. She knew that.

She smiled as Luna suggested leaving the restaurant. They had drunk some butterbeer - she still hated firewhiskey. They had laughed and talked.

It amazed her how alike they were - how well they got on. It was strange that they had never been better friends before in Hogwarts. If only it wasn't for the year difference.

She stood up, brushing off imaginary lint off her shirt. She turned towards the cloakroom, to get her cloak. She wasn't paying attention as she planned out what she would say to D-word when she saw him again.

Her mind was going fast as she thought up a speech. She ran through it her head.

"So I don't need a liar."

Her head snapped up as she landed harshly on the floor - the result of banging into someone who had been leaving the cloakroom.

"Oh I'm sorry, sir; I should have been paying attenti-" She trailed off as she saw who it was.

"Hermione. . ." Draco whispered lightly, pleadingly.

"Please." Hermione's voice was desperate - it conveyed the message. She didn't need this right now. She didn't want this right now.

"Hermione, what's taking you so lo-" Luna. She could see immediately she had walked into a tense scene. She appeared at her shoulder. Hermione gestured for her to go on to Fortescue's where they had intended to eat dessert.

"Hermione -"

Hermione shook her head. She turned. She wasn't crying this time. No, she merely looked angry - no that wasn't the right word. She looked furious.

She walked out of the room with a sense of pride; she was no Slytherin's play toy.

* * *

Ginny Potter and Luna Lovegood sat in Fortescue's contently eating ice cream. Ginny had been having cravings all day but with Harry's pregnancy diet course, she had been restricted to no ice cream for a week. Oh well . . what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Hermione would be coming any minute.

A bustle outside the shop. Flashes of cameras. Paparazzi. A sharp voice, a familiar voice spoke and everyone quieted down before heading off again.

The bell above the door rang, indicating someone was entering the shop. The red-head and the blonde quickly turned their head to see Hermione coming into the shop.

She looked amazing. Like she had come straight from a party. She hurried to the counter.

"Double- No, wait, make that Triple Chocolate Deluxe." She said to the shop assistant.

The skinny woman gave Hermione a look,as if telling her no wonder she looked like she did if that was what she ate. Hermione ignored the woman and placed some galleons on the table.

Ginny and Lunexchanged looks. They knew Hermione well enough to know that that ice-cream was her comfort food. What had happened?

Hermione turned to the table and plopped down into a seat as she eyed her massive ice cream.

She swallowed some mouthfuls before turning to the expectant faces of her best friends. Torture. It was torture.

'But oh well.' Hermione thought. 'Patience is a virtue.'

They impatiently tapped the table top with their fingers waiting for her to speak.

She ate another spoonful.

"For God's sake, tell us." Ginny said, losing her patience and showcasing the famous Weasley temper.

"Ladies, I have renounced men. I am going to join a convent."

Silence greeted her, before a faintly familiar voice spoke.

"Well, that's a pity. Beautiful women like you, it would be a crime to join a convent."

Hermione slowly turned. She really did not need this now.

A handsome brunette man stood there, smiling. He was well-built, with broad shoulders and unruly hair. Hermione was sure she recognised him - or at least those blue sparkly eyes.

"Um . . sorry, who are you?"

The man grinned, and didn't look offended.

"Thought you'd remember me for sure, after all I am terribly handsome."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Another arrogant bigot.

"Oh well, though it breaks my heart tht you don't remember me. How is Harry, his seeker skills still as good as they once were?"

Realisation dawned on Hermione.

"Oliver . ."

The man grinned again.

"Hey, Hermi-"

He barely managed to get the words out before he was tackled into a hug by Hermione. They had become friends during the war, after he had joined the Order. As it turned out, he had more in his mind then Quidditch.

Hermione shifted her chair to the side, gesturing for him to join them.

"So what have you been doing these last few years?"

He smiled.

"Well . . ."

* * *

Ron Weasley had been on holiday with Lavender for a fortnight. He didn't understand why Lavender had insisted on going to a Muggle place called the Caribbean, when the majority of the holiday had been spent in the hotel.

He might have become rich, but that didn't mean he wanted to blow his money on stupid things. He had had to pay for a Wizard forging service to get a Muggle Passport - whatever that was.

Ron sighed.

Lavender was not as fun and interesting as he had previously thought. She had taken to brooding.

Ron laughed as he remembered Malfoy's insults.

"Brooding, Weasel? Why don't we draw a scar on your face and call you Potter?"

Potter deserved it. Harry was his damn brother-in-law but he was sticking up for Hermione. Where was the logic in that? Harry said it was because he had cheated on Hermione.

She deserved it. If she wasn't so frigid, his eyes flashed thinking of the possibilities.

He turned to Lavender.

Hermione somehow managed to arouse him even in his thoughts. He found himself so stupid at times, he had ditched Hermione but he couldn't deny he was attracted to her. She may have been boring but she was hot.

Still, he thought staring at Lavender, another round was welcome.

* * *

A beautiful green dress lay on the bed. It was long enough so that it would flow down to her ankles. The dark material, that fell beneath the lacy pattern ended at knee length but the lace flowed on, giving an angelic illusion.

The hemming was done in silver and it was clear to anyone who looked at it that it had been done by hand. Meticulous work. A silver pouch and a pair of silver heels lay on the bed beside it.

Though Hermione had never told anyone, green had always been her favourite colour. And although some Gryffindors would regard it as a very Slytherin outfit, Hermione knew that silver and green looked the best together anyway.

Her mind running to her least favourite Slytherin, she smiled evilly. It would rub salt in their wounds, and frankly they deserved it. The Slytherin dress would be what they least expected her to wear to the ministry ball and that neither of them were on her arm would make it worse.

Oliver was going with her to the ball tomorrow.

She had explained the situation to him. Not why she was marrying Malfoy, but that they had had an argument.

Oliver was sweet and kind - almost like a brother to her. Hermione was not disappointed at all, that she would attend the ball on his arm.

She looked at the clock; Oliver was coming for dinner any minute. She waved her wand, silently changing her clothes to the outfit she had picked out.

It was a black dress, slinky. A beautiful dress that practically oozed sex appeal. She wore some simple black heels with it. With a last glance at herself in the mirror, she rushed to the kitchen to check on the food.

* * *

He took a deep breath. Running his fingers through his hair, and making a speech in his head, he raised his fist to knock on the door. He was ready.

There was a bustle of voices on the other side of the door before he heard Hermione's yell,

"I'll get it."

There was the sound of heels clicking and then the lock unlatching before the door jerked open. There was silence for a moment, before she spoke in a hostile voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Draco looked at her pleadingly. The sound of footsteps and a man appeared at her shoulder. Draco distinctly remembered him from Hogwarts, the captain of the Quidditch team.

Oliver Forest. No, that wasn't right. Oliver Wood.

"Do you need a moment?" Oliver's deep baritone voice said, as he observed the two people. He glanced between them,trying to make sense of the situation.

"No . . ."

Draco looked close to begging.

"You get 2 minutes." She turned to Oliver, apologetically.

"Back soon. Just get comfortable."

She stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind her. She led Draco to the slow double swing at the entrance of the house. Sitting herself down comfortably, she looked up at him questioningly.

"2 minutes. Start talking."

Draco's voice was hurried.

"Look, I'm really sorry. "

"110, 105, 100 . . ."

"But it's just that I didn't want to lose you."

Hermione frowned.

"So I'm a game. A competition?"

Draco frantically shook his head. She wasn't giving him time to explain.

"No. Well, it started out that way."

"80, 75, 70 . . ."

"I have already agreed to go to the ball with Oliver. We'll meet there. Don't worry, I'll be there for your precious press conference.."

She spoke calmly, and that in itself was scary. She turned and walked back up the garden path.


	16. Fiance

The shower door opened, and out stepped Hermione, engulfed in the heat from the shower. Wrapping a towel around herself, she stepped out of the toilet, walking towards her bed. Her dress lay fanned out on the bed, her shoes and jewellery had been put on a chair that stood next to the bed.

Hermione Granger was going to be Cinderella - whether she had a fairy godmother or not. She would make Malfoy regret what he had done. She would make Oliver proud to have her on his arm.

She paused, looking at the time. But none of that would happen if she didn't start getting ready now. With a sigh, she waved her wand, as she put on the dress quickly.

She was happy. But somehow her mind kept drifting to the press conference that was meant to happen. She had not forgiven Malfoy and the press would be asking questions about their relationship.

Hermione scoffed - what relationship? She didn't want to lie - especially when she hat- no, Hermione shook her head, she didn't hate him. Merely disliked him passionately.

A voice in her head reminded her that that was the definition of hat, but she disreguarded it.

She sat down on the bed, carefully putting on her high heels. Her feet would hurt by the end of the night.

She wondered whether she would be able to get out of the press conference by saying she saying she felt ill. Then Malfoy could do a worried look - and caring words - which would serve the purpose of the press conference.

Get privacy for the rest of their non-existent relationship.

Hermione shook her head - that was stupid. She couldn't lie that well. But, the voice in her head spoke, she could act.

Hermione grinned. Sounded like a plan.

She stood, the lace of the dress swishing to the ground. Turning towards the mirror, and applying some make-up, Hermione knew she had never looked prettier.

She turned to the bed. There was a mask, lying there. She put the elastic on her neck, playing the eye mask on her forehead till she would need it.

It was a great idea for the Ministry to make it a masquerade. Most people would dye their hair. Hermione hadn't dyed her hair - but she had straightened it out.

With a bit of luck, Malfoy would not recognise her. Now the only question was, how would she recognise him, so that she could avoid him?

* * *

He was drumming on the table, unconsciously. He was worried,even if he didn't admit it.

Would Hermione call off the press conference - she had promised, but maybe? Or worse, the wedding? To make matters worse, he had been to visit his parents who had been angry.

He laughed. Understatement of the year.

Narcissa's exact words had been 'She is so much better than you - and you got her. But of course, you have to mess it up. You better fix this, otherwise I am disowning you, and adopting Hermione.'

The scary thing was she was not joking.

He didn't have a date. But he was sure Hermione would have one.

He sighed - a long suffering sigh escaping his lips. Why was everyone always after his girl?

* * *

The hall had been decorated beautifully. The pale blue ribbons curled around the pillars. The white curtains made the hall look like an ice kingdom. The theme was Winter Nights and the colour scheme of pale blue and white complimented it beautiful.

The glasses, tables and chairs were made out of crystal glass, that made them look like ice blocks. The A/C had been on all day to make the room pleasantly cool. No one could possibly say that the ball wasn't a success.

The two main doors were both open and people poured through. The women in beautiful dresses and the men in uncomfortable looking suits. The wizard community had long since embraced muggle wear.

The chatter filled the room as the Weird Sisters put some of their favourite songs on.

No one was dancing.

Everyone was ready for the big announcement.

Oliver sat. Hermione was coming soon. She had just went to the woman's restroom, reassuring him that she would be fine.

The doors were about to be shut. But then footsteps came towards each door.

A beautiful woman dressed in green and silver - that Oliver recognised as Hermione- entered.

And on the opposite side of the room, a platinum haired man entered. He was handsome - and many of the women swooned, getting dirty looks from their prospective boyfriends and husbands.

The men watched the woman. The women watched the man.

But they both had only eyes for each other, because they knew the expectations of the occupants of the room. They had been sighted together - and the wizards and witches expected them to make an announcement at the ball.

They walked slowly towards the centre of the room. They took each others hands, the man placed his hand on her waist, and the music played.

They danced intricately, and it was as though they were the only ones in the room.

Some of the more delicate witches turned away - this dance was one of intimacy.

They matched each others movements and they were paired together as they were meant to. They did not speak.

But the music ended and they broke apart. The man's eyes were filled with pain as the woman walked away towards Oliver, without a glance back.

* * *

He didn't care whether she was here with someone else. Even to himself, those words sounded weak - and they were obviously not the truth. As he watched her smile and laugh with someone who was not him, he realised that she might have changed her mind.

He dismissed the thought quickly. She was too caring to condemn him like that.

But he wanted security.

He saw that the minister was about to make his speech.

Walking confidently and determinedly, he ignored the fact the music had ended and that everyone,including Hermione, was watching him.

He turned to them. He spoke loudly.

"Do continue."

They turned and the music played again.

"Mr. Malfoy. The ball is a success, thanks for your donations." The minister spoke.

Draco tried to smile - it looked like a grimace.

"Minister. But I require a favour. Would you allow to speak after your speech?"

With a curt nod, the minister turned and walked up to the stage.

"I would like to thank you all for attending. Please do donate to the Victims of the War charity. I would like to say that great things can come from the dark. The war was harsh and long - it claimed many lives."

All the listeners respectfully bowed their heads.

"But we have recovered well. And for this, we must be grateful. Now, Draco Malfoy would like to make an announcement."

Excited chatter broke out.

"You have heard many rumours about Hermione Granger and I. I would like to confirm that we are in a relationship. And I would like to thank her, because she inspires me everyday. My fiance, Hermione Granger!"

A hush fell over the crowd, before slow claps spread. Hermione smiled - but he could tell it was forced. He saw her turn to Oliver, then she turned and walked out of the room.

Draco couldn't help but sigh. He might not have apologised but he had delivered heartfelt words, hadn't he?

He turned to the crowd, and cleared his throat.

"I understand you have many questions. I have arranged a press conference."

An idea came into his head. He would get Hermione back.


	17. The 10 tonne truck named Bliss

For the first time in ages, Hermione was feeling a sense of calmness. She was done with the worrying, and the crying. She was done with the jealously and the lying. But most importantly, she was done with the acting.

She had never liked drama in primary school. That may or may not have been because she was always the ugly sister. She liked to think that she disliked drama because she hated that it was pretense.

You see, reality and drama are two very different things. And yet they are so similar as well.

It made her think of Shakespeare. Hermione had grown up to Shakespeare. She was named after Hermione in the Winter's Tale. And she prized his book above anything else in the world.

_'All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances.'_

Just because Draco had entered her life, that didn't mean he had to stay in it.

Just because they had shared a dance - and his close proximity had almost made her swoon.

Just because he was the first thing she thought about in the morning - and the last at night.

Her thoughts stopped as she internally reprimanded herself.

'He was horrible to you, Hermione.'

She lay down on the bed, wishing she could sleep. Soon she was dreaming.

* * *

"_Wake up, Hermione_!" A familiar voice was yelling at her. Her mother's?

"5 more minutes, mummy." She mumbled.

The person chuckled.

"It's nice to know that you think I sound like your mum. It's an insult to my masculine pride." The voice spoke.

Her alarm clock went off. She groaned loudly, swatting at it. She lifted her head up, before plopping down again.

"What do you want, Harry?"

The person laughed louder.

"BUZZ! Wrong answer! You get one more chance."

Hermione shifted on the bed.

"If that is you, Draco, please note, that I am willing to use an Avada curse."

There was a sound, as the person dropped to their knees, and cried with laughter.

"God, Malfoy. Why him?"

Hermione yelled.

"Oh, for God's sake, can't even have a lie in - on Saturday - in my own ho- OLIVER! What are you doing here?"

But he was walking away. Just when she thought he would leave, he turned and smiled slightly.

"Make sure you read the Prophet this morning."

And with those enigmatic words he left.

* * *

**_Malfoy Heir speaks out about his finance business, his future and his fiance_**

_Joining us this morning, Draco Malfoy, the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world for the past 5 years, spoke out against the conspiracy that has followed his new relationship, his promotion and his future plans, that critics have called reckless._

_Me: So Draco, let's satisfy the ladies first. So Hermione Granger - totally gorgeous, sought by everyone and your fiance, but how did you meet?_

_Draco: (smirks) Well, I met her at one of my mother's balls. She was just so pretty, and intelligent - I spent the evening talking to her._

_Me:What we want to know is, is Ron Weasley aware of your relationship?_

_Draco : He is aware. He didn't however know I proposed though. But I want to say to him, thanks, Weasley!_

_Me: Would you elaborate?_

_Draco: If he hadn't screwed up their relationship, I would never have got to be with such an amazing woman like Hermione._

_Me: Sounds like a man in love. When did you first realise you loved her?_

_Draco: No one will believe me if I say this, but the first time I realised was when she met my parents and tackled my father. It was hilarious._

_Me: You do realise your dad will receive a copy of this. He is a changed man - but you just embarassed him in front of the wizarding world. What are you going to do?_

_Draco: (laughs) Destroy his copy._

_Well, Mr. Malfoy, if you are reading this, his plan obviously failed._

_Me: What is the most important thing in a relationship?_

_It surprises me that he answers straight away with no hesitation._

_Draco: Forgiveness. We all mess up - and make mistakes. But it takes someone to say I'm sorry. And to apologise properly, meaning it. I rarely say sorry, but when I do I mean it. And I would just like to say, to someone, who knows what I mean, I am sorry. I am sorry about what I did._

_Me: That seems heartfelt. Last question about your relationship. What is the thing you love the most about her?_

_Draco: (shaking his head) I can't say one thing. Her eyes, the way they light up when she's happy. Her hair, how she curls it around her fingers when she is nervous - she bites her lip too. Her smile, it's so warm and you can mel-Merlin!_

_He breaks off, a sense of realisation is his eyes. _

_Me: Mr. Malfoy?_

_He nods imperceptibly. I would have missed it if I hadn't been studying him so intently._

_Me: Where do you intend to go with Malfoy Ltd.?_

Hermione stopped reading. This revealed so much about him. He had apologised. She had to talk to him. Right away.

* * *

Draco sighed as he walked into Malfoy Manor. The house seemed empty, but his parents were probably lurking around somewhere and he was sure they would give him a lecture. Silently, he wished Hermione would talk to him.

The article had been published and there was no going back now. She would read it and she would make her decision.

Rest assured, it could not be denied that he had tried. That he had worked for a girl for the first time in his life.

Wandering through to the kitchens, he sat down on a chair, as an elf approached him.

"Senior Master and Senior Mistress are not is sorry. Quirky is going to visit her cousin, Winky. But Master seems sad, so Quirky will stay."

Draco smiled , at least, he wouldn't be berated by his mother. It was always his fault - whenever there was a demise of a relationship. A scratching sound on the window made him turn.

A golden eagle sat proudly on the window sill - a letter attached to it's leg. From the green paper and the silver Malfoy seal, Draco saw immediately it was a letter from his mother. Mentally preparing himself, he opened the window.

The eagle swooped in and dropped the letter on the table before leaving again.

With a sigh, Draco tentatively walked closer. Quirky practically chirped with excitement.

"Master Draco! It's a howler from your mother!"

**"_Draco Lucius Malfoy! This is not how I raised you. You have learnt to apologise but why do you things that mean you need to apologise? _**

**_Hermione deserves better than you; you are lucky she puts up with you._**

**_So get your butt to that delightful florist in Diagon Alley and sweep her off her feet._**

_And Quirky, dear, don't stay tending to his deserved wounds. I know Winky misses you_."

Quirky turned red with indignation as Draco gave a resigned look.

"You better be off then, Quirky. Leave me to wallow with my dear friend Firewhiskey. . . Now where is it?"

Draco bent looking through the cupboards.

"Try the bottom left. And move over, I am here to wallow too."

It was a familiar voice. Hermione's. He stiffened before following her instructions and placing two dusty bottles on the table.

Quirky glanced between the two before apparating - he was not about to put up with the sexual tension that surrounded them.

Draco popped the bottle open, taking a large gulp, loving the familiar burning sensation. He raised the bottle to Hermione's as he observed she had mirrored his actions.

"Why are you wallowing then?"He asked, when almost half of his bottle was gone.

Hermione shrugged, taking another gulp. Her hair was in disarray and ash was dusted on her shoes - the tell-tale signs of a troublesome floo. She wet her lip with her tongue - and Draco couldn't help but wonder whether she knew the affect she had on him.

"I realised seriously misjudged someone."

He internally grinned - it seemed she might accept his apology after all.

"But what if he - I mean, this person - says its OK?"

He observed her reaction. She barely moved. She merely nodded and then a beaming smile lit up her face.

"Yes, thanks. I am going to go and see Blaise - and I'll tell you if it worked out."

His heart sunk. She had come to him for relationship advice - and he, like the fool he was, had freely given it to her - without questioning his motives. He tried to make his face emotionless again - as he realised that she could probably see how he felt.

He took a long drink of Firewhiskey. He was greeted with laughter when he banged the drink back down on the table.

With a glare at the laughing Hermione and her now empty bottle, he turned to staring at the alcohol droplets which had fallen on the table from the constant banging of bottles.

"Well, you've finished your drink. You should go." His voice was cold and harsh.

She laughed louder. He couldn't take it anymore.

"What?" He demanded.

She stopped laughing, gasping loudly.

"I was joking, Draco. I was talking about you."

He loved the way his name rolled off her tongue. But then he realised he should be angry at her for playing a Slytherin and succeeding.

He found he wasn't angry though. He was relieved. And this both scared him and thrilled him.

She spoke again.

"Draco, I misjudged you. I'm sorry. But none of this would have happened if you hadn't been honest from the start. I am a Gryffindor, remember? I would have done the _right_ thing anyway."

Draco couldn't help but grin as her apology turned into a scolding.

She smiled at him.

He found himself smiling back against his will. She relaxed and melted.

"But. ."

She stiffened again. Her eyes were wide and innocent, her hair tumbling to her shoulders as she stared up at him. He had never loved his height more. The way she was standing gave him a perfect view.

She seemed to realise this, and swatting at him. She mumbled under her breath - something he could have sworn sounded just like 'Perv.'

He did not know what prompted his next words. It might have been the way her lips were slightly parted. It might have been how her skirt rode up. It didn't matter.

"Kiss me." His voice was meant to be demanding - and certain. But it betrayed him - it was husky with lust

Hermione's breath hitched as she felt waves of desire engulf her. She tried to force words through her suddenly dry throat - but she found she could not.

She found there was no point in replying anyways.

Because in the next moment, his lips crashed down on hers. Bliss hit her like a 10 tonne truck - hard and fast. She lost herself - and succumbed to him.

And this time, the kiss was not accidental. Or a mistake.

This time it meant something - to both of them.


	18. New beginnings

The kiss was passionate - it engulfed both the participants. Her hands found their way to his hair - his own hands resting on her delicate waist, pulling her closer. They fit together well, like two puzzle pieces. The world did not exist for a moment. There was no such thing as reality for a moment.

They were intoxicated slightly and the faint taste of fire-whiskey lingered on their lips. They drunk each other in, both of them enjoying the feel of the other's body against theirs.

Pulling away was a difficult task. They did not want to. But the moment could not last forever, reality would eventually invade. Reality had the tendency of announcing itself at inconvenient moments. The alcohol was wearing off - they had not had much as it was.

She pulled away first, her eyes still glazed over, breathing heavily. He stood completely still, unmoving, waiting for her reaction.

"I'm sorry. I led you on."

Anger filled him quickly. It was red and hot.

"You led me on? Oh, no you don't! You feel what I feel. I know you do."

His voice was low and cutting. He almost cringed as he heard himself talk. He stopped himself. She had led him on? She deserved then insecurity struck him.

His mother had always always told him that hope was the denial of reality. And she had told him the truth. He had hoped for Hermione to be his. But could it be he had misread the signs?

Maybe she was in denial. He was hanging by a string.

"Denial . ." He whispered unconsciously.

Hermione's head shot up - her eyes filled with anger.

"It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept."

He shook her head, his anger evaporating as he saw her look of frustation.

"Mya, you might say that . . .but that is the definition of denial."

She didn't argue. It was true.

Seating herself on the sofa, she looked up at him. Her eyes filled with tears for reasons she could not comprehend. Her voice was a whisper when she finally spoke after the silence.

"We are complicated. We aren't average."

He did not smile, because he knew how she felt. And he had felt the same way for a long time.

"But not many in the world can say they are average."

He looked at her intensely, and for a minute she melted. What he said applied to her but that didn't mean anything, did it? She held eye contact before hallowing her head. He stood unmoving for a moment.

"We aren't average. After all I am so handsome that I could be a Vog- that big company model."

He smirked, trying to lighten the situation. She did not smile. She spoke then. And the words mean so much to him that it was scary.

"Draco."

He truly loved his name on her lips. The way it rolled off her tongue and inspired shivers of desire.

Her hand came to rest on his arm, and he wondered whether she was doing this on purpose. It would not surprise him if she had planned this out. Closet Slytherin, remember? He tried to clear his thoughts as he saw her lips move to form words.

" . . . so what do you say?" She looked nervous, and this side of her intrigued Draco. He had always admired her confidence but she looked shy now. It was adorable.

Some strands of her chestnut hair fell in her face as she shook her head from side to side.

"I knew it . ." She muttered under her breath.

His eyes watched her lips intently. Those innocently enticing lips that formed a beautiful sad pout, like the one she was doing right now.

"Sorry." She said again.

She fiddled with her clothes, fixing them and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. She turned and made to walk out the door back to the floo. She never made it.

His hands grabbed her wrist, twirling her back into him.

"Hermione."

She shivered involuntarily. He smiled at the thought he could provoke these reactions from her.

"Can you repeat that? I wasn't listening."

He gently nudged her to the stools and they sat down.

"We could give us - as in us, a try. And I asked if you wanted to."

His face broke out into a grin, as he frantically nodded his head, eagerly. Her body slumped as she relaxed.

"So when's our first date?" He asked.

She smiled slightly at his enthusiasm.

"I didn't ask you on a date." She spoke teasingly.

Draco frowned.

"Are you that chauvinistic? The guy has to ask. Granger, I'm breaking up with you."

And he turned and walked out of the room, waiting impatiently for her to come and 'apologise'. He couldn't help but smile at his little charade.

He paced waiting for her, before going in to the room.

It was empty. She had left. He would have to apologise.

He couldn't help but feel that their relationship was built on apologies. It was untrue, he knew that but it was there - that little sliver of doubt.

A giggle broke into his thoughts. Turning he saw a little ripple where it seemed there was nothing. He would not have noticed it, if he hadn't trained so hard during the war.

The tell tale signs of a disillusion charm.

She was still here. Closet Slytherin. If she wanted to mess with him, he would mess with her.

"God, Hermione. What do you do to me? I wish I could tell you I was jealous of you and Blaise."

A shrill sound came from where she stood.

"I knew it! You have the hots for-"

He nodded eagerly, cutting her off. Finally she understood. He smiled brilliantly; he hadn't had to tell her. It was difficult for a Malfoy to discuss feelings.

"Yes!"

She smiled angelically. She placed a hand on his arm.

"Was that so hard? It's nice to know you have come out of the closet. It's OK! Blaise is," She lowered her voice. "so very sexy. I would understand that you like him. I knew two men couldn't spend that much time together without engaging in ' activities'!"

His brain had stopped after hearing her say that Blaise was 'sexy'. What did he have that Draco didn't?

"Now, now, Draco, there is nothing to be jealous of. I can tell by your face. Blaise is all yours. But why are all the good men, taken or gay?"

Slowly he began to comprehend what she had just said. He looked at her in shock, unable to decipher the look on her face. Did she think it was true?

"Hermione, I am straight."

She smirked, stepping closer to him. Putting her hands on the nape of his neck, she brushed lint off his shoulders.

He gulped.

Putting her lips to his ear, she whispered in a husky voice,

"Prove it."

And he did.

* * *

The happiness struck him. Hermione had been a sense of release almost. But it was time to move on from that phase. The immaturity was going to be replaced.

Blaise swept his black locks away from his face as he looked at the sleeping girl.

He had met her at the shop, before Hermione. It was strange how he had met them on the same day. They were both very different but well known for being friends.

She was not a fling. He knew that.

It scared him that he could imagine a wedding. And little children running around the manor.

He had always thought it was only women who did that.

She wouldn't be worried that he had planned their future. She was wise. After all, she was a Ravenclaw.

He turned to look at the setting sun. He was going to bury his old memories, and start a new life.

Maybe someday he would return and look at what had happened to his friends. But for now, it was better to let go.

He would be fine. As long as Luna was by his side.

* * *

The street was silent as the night arrived. The lamp posts that lined the road were shimmering brightly, so the area seemed secure. To any passer-by it would have seemed normal. And it was.

Until they arrived.

They came round the corner - and it seemed like they had appeared from nowhere. Though that was impossible. It was hard to tell through the fog when they had come.

The man was tall and thin, his ginger hair attracting unneccesary attention. The blonde woman that walked in front of him, was quite obviously much older than him and they seemed an odd couple.

But this was London. In the heart of the city, such a couple was not rare. No one paid them any mind as they swept down the dark alleys.

He seemed to be fiddling with a small pen-like object. All at once, the lamps went out.

"Hurry up!" The woman barked.

The man carelessly trailed behind her anyway.

"Now, now. Calm down! You need me for the plan." His voice was patronising.

It was clear to see that this reaction was misplaced and stupid. The woman froze, turning around and walking towards him.

"Listen up, boy." A sound of protest escaped from the man at being addressed as boy.

"I have no need from you. And some of my dear friends are very willing to kill you. So I suggest you shut up, and follow me."

The man gulped, and his pace sped up, noticeably.

"Now do you need to go over the plan?" The woman asked, not bothering to check if anyone was listening.

The man shook his head.

"Good. At least you have the ability to follow instructions." The woman said simply.

She stepped up to him, taking what looked like a stick from her bag. She took it pointing one end at him - almost like they were playing a game. He seemed to be scared of the stick.

The woman tutted.

"Oh, for goodness sake. Stop looking so worried. It's a miracle you were in Gryffindor."

The man stood his ground, surprisingly.

"What are you doing then?"

"Fidelius charm." The woman spoke, and the words that came out of her mouth seemed foreign.

The man looked confused. It seemed he didn't understand either.

"For goodness sake, man. Fidelius means loyal in Latin, use your brain. The secret keeper charm, remember? The one your so-called best friend is so familiar with. His parents were betrayed, remember?"

Something flickered in the man's eyes.

"I remember. But who's our secret keeper?"

The woman lowered her voice, before frantically looking around.

"The same woman who gave us the vial of potion. It seems lovely Miss Granger has many enemies. "

The man remained confused.

"Which potion?"

The woman sighed heavily.

"How many vials of potion were there? The purple one - the one called Poena of Nex."

The man did not respond; instead he stood still, a thoughtful expression on his face. The woman looked down the road, as she heard footsteps. A young girl walked past in a swaying manner, earning appreciative looks from the man.

With a painful hit, the man turned back to his companion, who still had her hand raised.

"Skeeter." He hissed.

The woman hit him again.

"Don't say my name. The ministry might have tags on me. They never did forgive me for slandering the Malfoy name. And he isn't even a member of the Ministry - he's just someone who funds them."

She grumbled, before turning to the task at hand.

"Poena of Nex is the pain of death potion. Our aide might be helpless but she knows her potions. It's deadly and illegal."

The man frowned at her.

"You never did answer my question. Who is our secret keeper?"

The woman spoke simply.

"Marietta Edgecombe."


	19. The pawn

Hi!

I got it to you on the 2 week deadline.

So first a thank you to Roni2010. You disabled PM. Thanks for alerting and reviewing!

To Nadia -

Jsyk, I am deputy Senior prefect not deputy prefect but teachers I can also be called junior head girl.

**A MISSING LEMON CHAPTER!**

**It will be up by the next update, it will fit in between this chapter and the previous one!**

* * *

She woke to the sun-rise. Her clothes were everywhere. Including the chandelier which was currently dangling up above her. She shifted slightly trying to get Draco to let go of her waist.

She had had a good night. Better than Ron had ever given her.

For a moment, she couldn't help but smile. Thank God Ron had broken up with her! It might have been too soon to say but Hermione could imagine her life with Draco, something she could never do with Ron. And again, her happiness was overwhelming.

She smiled, as Draco pulled her closer in his sleep.

"Hermione . . " He whispered.

She grinned at his angelic face. Slowly she inched away from him. He groaned. She fell to the floor with a hard bump, as he turned suddenly. Cringing, she checked up on him, to make sure he was still sleeping.

With a smile at his sleeping body, she crept out of the door.

* * *

He woke up late. And to an empty cold bed.

For a second, confusion filled him. Somehow he knew that he shouldn't have expected anything else. He had been brought up to a motto, 'Life is unfair; deal with it.'

Those were the words his mother would calmly speak when his new toy broke. The words that his grandfather would utter when he hurt himself and the apothecary ran out of pain potion. The words that Lucius Malfoy would laugh, when Draco complained about his 'friends'.

But for once in his life, everything had been perfect.

He had got the girl and survived the friends of said girl.

He was a fool; he knew that. Fools believe everything they hear - and most importantly, they lose. What they lost, he was not sure. But he had lost a game. And the consequences would be deadly.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he got out of bed in a daze. For once, he hated the silence that surrounded his house. The manor had been worse, but his house in London was a close second.

Sometimes he liked the silence, because it meant he could get work done, before the deadlines.

But this time, it was not a good thing.

He walked slowly down the stairs after checking in the toilet. His heart grew heavier with each step. She had left.

The funny thing was he should not have been feeling this way; he was though, and he had admitted it. He walked to the kitchen, his eyes still glazed. Reaching for a glass, he poured some of the firewhiskey that was still left and took a sip.

A chuckle came from behind him. He groaned. Just what he needed. A 'worried' friend that would laugh at his sorry state, before trying to comfort him, in ways he did not want to be comforted.

"Tut tut, Draco. Won't Cissy be disappointed? Firewhiskey,this early in the morning?"

Hermione.

A smile that couldn't be justified spread to his face. It was gone as quick as it came, only to be replaced by a lust-filled smirk.

She stood in the doorway of the kitchen in one of his shirts. It didn't leave much to the imagination, that was for sure. She smiled at him, in her hand she balanced a tray, on which rested a still warm breakfast.

She had cooked for him.

He wouldn't mind getting used to this. Sure, he would have liked her beside him in bed, but he could imagine her in his life.

A sudden flash hit him as he suddenly thought of little curly blonde children running around the house, eliminating the silence once and for all.

It surprised him that he could imagine this with her.

Raking his eyes over her again, he moved forward steathily, almost like a predator. He placed his hands around her waist and pulled her into him closer. Moving his lips onto her own warm ones, he drew back.

He pulled her into a hug, murmuring against her ear.

"Want to see why I was called Slytherin Sex God?"

She almost melted in his arms, before withdrawing and turning to walk to the bedroom, breakfast long forgotten.

He grabbed her wrist, placing her onto the counter of the kitchen.

He kissed her again.

Yes, he still had it.

* * *

"Are you ready?" The blonde woman screamed at her accomplice. She could see the signs of hesitation and she couldn't afford this now. Her plan had to go right.

"Rita . . " He started, shaking his ginger hair out of his eyes.

"Don't say my name, you imbecile!" She turned away from him, shaking her head at his idiocy. She should have planned it out more carefully. She could have found better accomplices - smarter ones. "We don't have much time before the aurors find me."

"Why don't we just beat them up?" The man asked.

Rita turned back to him, a malicious smile growing on her face.

"And this is why you were in Gryffindor. You see physical damage might hurt, but emotional damage will do much worse." Her smile was scary.

You see, whilst smiles are meant to make your face blossom, Rita's smile didn't. She rarely smiled. And when she did, it would always be a malicious one, a conniving one.

Rita Skeeter, like all villains, wasn't totally evil. There was a neglected child hiding somewhere. But even those that are neglected had their limits and Rita's had arrived. Because as she plotted,her enemies were rising too.

It seemed that even with Fred dead, the twins business was still blooming.

Extendable Ears tend to be very helpful.

Especially when the right person is on the other end.

Luna Lovegood.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy grinned. Now this was an extraordinary feat, because Narcissa Malfoy did not smile much, let alone grin. But here she was, looking exceptionally happy. Her only son's wedding was in two days, her daughter-in-law to be was beautiful and Lucius was not being a workaholic for the first time.

With the wedding so close though, she was in a panic.

The mother of the bride should be there to help, but Hermione's mother was in Australia. According to Hermione, after the war, they had decided to stay in Australia, to remain close to their new friends.

It would have been easy to floo there to meet them but the license price had gone up, as had the cost of floo powder.

Still, Narcissa was happy. Because this meant she had the perfect wedding present for Hermione. A permanent license.

She knew Hermione missed her parents, and she smiled at the thought of her daughter-in-law to be that happy.

But there was one problem.

And it was a big one.

Narcissa Malfoy was a wizarding idol. Like an elegant, sophisticated supermodel.

It would just not do to turn up to her only son's wedding in drab clothing. It would have been fine, if Gustavo, her fashion designer, hadn't decided to visit his relatives in Italy. But the truth of the matter was he had, and now Narcissa was stuck with nothing to wear and only two days till the wedding.

Hence she was strolling through Diagon Alley, hoping for a boutique to magically pop up. Whilst the idea seemed quite improbable, Narcissa reminded herself that it was after all possible, and what else was their to say on the matter?

Few people disagreed with Narcissa Malfoy.

So back to the matter at hand, Narcissa Malfoy was strolling through Diagon Alley, when she heard loud voices.

You must remember and acknowledge that Narcissa Malfoy is a Slytherin. Which explains why she paused, used a handy sonic hearing spell, that Snape had taught her, and heard the plan of a bug by the name of Rita Skeeter.

Narcissa Malfoy, though many unpleasant things, had at least one redeeming quality. And that was her intelligence. You could say a great deal of things about her, but not that she was an idiot.

So when faced with a problem like this, she would not inform Draco and Hermione, but instead protect them in her own conniving Slytherin way.

She would get the help of the Lovegood girl who was listening in as well, and then Hermione and Draco would be safe.

Having decided that, she was faced with the more difficult task of what colour to wear.

Egg shell white or off white?

* * *

The room was empty. And so black that not many ever entered. There was only one very small window, and it was very high, so not much light could enter the room as it was. A heavy curtain lay on the window ledge, with a hook missing, indicating it had fallen off.

The room had no significance, but for the fact it was the last place Marietta Edgecombe had resided.

She tended to like dark things, although it did not seem to suit her much. She had always been a quite, conservative girl and for her to have changed so drastically was odd.

But Marietta Edgecombe was an odd girl.

She had always been odd, although not many seemed to realise this. But everyone has a cracking point, and Marietta had barely survived hers.

Now she was just the shell of the person she had been before the war.

Marietta did not have anyone to blame but herself for many years. Then a turning point in her life came.

Marietta had always been good and kind but she seemed to realise it would get her nowhere. So she had helped those who realised that as well. Like Umbridge.

She no longer addressed Professor Umbridge as Professor. It was clear to Marietta that Umbridge was no professor. Dolores had been a pawn in a game, just like Marietta herself.

As it was, she remained a pawn, because at least pawns are protected. Or at least felt it to be so.

There are many in the world, both wizarding and muggle, who are content to be pawns for the entirety of their unfulfilled lives. For a long time, Marietta Edgecombe had been one of these people.

Till she was approached by a Ms. Rita Skeeter.

It was then Marietta realised that her potions skill was a gift, a gift she could use in any way she thought worthy. And using it for the downfall of her enemy, a certain Miss Granger, seemed as good an opportunity as any.

For once in her relatively short life, Marietta Edgecombe was not a pawn. She was the queen, and she had more power than she ever thought she would.

The sweet girl was no longer that sweet.

But it was to be expected.

Power taints many.


	20. Over

**This chapter is dedicated to Randres89 and A Deatheater's Riddle.**

**Hey guys,**

**I have been going through a tough time recently and wanted to thank Ash for the support she gave me and help to get writing again. Thanks for all reviews . . . they made me want to write again.**

**From now on, I am doing dedications to all the people who really helped.**

**Apologies to Teen readers who haven't had a chap for a month, and a question to over 18's, how did you like my lemon chap? It was up 2 weeks ago . . to be in compliance with my update dates.**

**Thanks to Luna Rose Lily, who I just realised I haven't been thanking . . .your reviews mean a lot!**

**Hope you enjoy this chap! Very complicated plot for this part of the scam, so if you have any questi****ons sign in so I can answer.**

**A word of warning, if I don't get over the things I have been going through, expect a late chap.**

**Also I have changed the name to Closet Slytherin - it suited the story more. My plot bunny ran off so the new title is better.**

* * *

The hospital was full of noise when Hermione arrived. This was a rare occurence. St. Mungos had been ruined after the war - and though it had been built up again, it now had many competitors, that had formed in it's place, during its downfall.

St. Mungos, though the biggest hospital, was no longer the most popular. If there was an emergency, St. Mungos was the perfect choice - its A&E department was still the best.

That fact may or may not have been because THE Hermione Granger worked in that department.

But crowds meant casualties.

Therefore the first thought Hermione had when she walked in was not a pleasant one. An emergency that caused this many casualties was not something she would like to face.

An emergency like this would be like the war. It would be terrible. And there would be children, small children who had not even lived their lives properly - they would all be suffering.

She sighed as she headed to her office, mentally preparing herself for the day ahead.

But then something happened. Her office door was green rather than red. She had painted it to match her house colours . . and it definitely was not green.

And it was then Hermione Granger realised that there was no there were no casualties. And most definitely, not any crowds.

Because Hermione Granger was caught in an Illucination. That would obviously explain the faint waves and blurs of shapes in the distance.

She recognised the effects of the potion; the potion's name was Votum quod to Order, and it was the most deadly potion known to wizards. Created by a dark wizard in the 13th century, the potion was used on unwilling brides.

It caused them to go under the Imperio almost, although you would remember everything that you did, and would 'watch' yourself do it.

The name of the potion suited it. Votum quod to Order meant quite simply 'The Wish and the Command' in Latin.

There was no antidote that Hermione knew of. The page with the antidote had been ripped out - Hermione clearly remembered this fact, because she had been irritated when she hadn't been able to read on.

The fact that Hermione was now in an Illucination and under someone else's control scared her. But she did not let this show - she was a Gryffindor, though she had been acting other wise throughout the period of being 'engaged' to Draco.

Hermione calmed herself down. She would find the page, and the antidote.

Because if there was any subject at school that Hermione excelled at, it was Potions. She might never have come first - although that fact was probably contributed to the Half Blood Prince book and Snape being the teacher - but Hermione Granger was quite simply amazing at Potions.

Most importantly, Hermione would find out who the culprit was - after all, when you had trouble you went to the root of the problem.

* * *

Rita impatiently tapped on the table as she watched the Weasley boy fumble.

The first phase was complete. Hermione had been given the potion and that would mean that the second phase could start. This was the part that that Weasley would do; even an idiot couldn't mess this up.

He would issue the orders to Hermione and then watch her emotional torture. He would watch her broken shell cry. And smile as he realised she would now need a rebound guy.

Ron Weasley really was an idiot, and Rita Skeeter knew how to use this to her advantage. Hermione Granger might be a broken shell but she would still have standards. That obviously eliminated Ron from rebound guys.

There was another part of the plan though. A part Ron Weasley was unaware of. It was this part of the plan that Rita had used to bribe Marietta to join them.

Marietta had always hated Hermione Granger. Perhaps more than Rita herself.

They had come to an agreement.

Marietta had agreed to provide them with the Votum quod to Order potion. And in return, Rita would slip Hermione the Poena of Nex - pain of death- that Marietta herself had supplied.

Marietta was simple minded and Rita had used this to her advantage.

Rita knew exactly what was needed to persuade her to provide them with the potions and if it was possible to do both emotional and physical harm to Granger, then there was nothing else for it.

It was easy to steer and push Ron and Marietta in the right direction; Rita had assured that they would take the blame should anything go wrong and the aurors find them. Granger had helped her unwillingly with that part of the plan.

It was Hermione who had developed a spell for Auror's to use. Secretkeepers could easily tell the 'secret' if they wished, but a spell with a lock, a password of sorts, would not allow that.

Rita smiled. This was a rarity.

Her plan would not fail. And if it did, she had not one, but two scapegoats.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was filled with euphoria as he returned to Malfoy ltd. after the weekend. He was relaxed, and happy. And content. For the first time, he was smiling. His fiance had the ability to make him smile, something he had never felt before.

This feeling was different, and he both knew it and accepted it. He was in love.

Hermione was beautiful and smart. She was the only one who could make him calm and make him smile. She was equal to him in every way.

He didn't know how it happened. How suddenly her bookish ways and the scrunching of her nose when she was thinking had become adorable rather than irritating.

He had to tell her. He had to tell her that he wanted more than a trophy wife - and a forced wedding. He wanted a lover - a best friend, a confidant. She had to know that she was the one - the only one.

He wouldn't just tell her. He had to plan it out. Malfoys never did anything halfway. But first he would meet his parents.

After years, on unrest, he could finally confide in his parents again; it had been Hermione who had helped him do that. It was Hermione who had smiled and told him that they were his parents, and they loved him.

She had cried then. Her parents were alive but barely. They were in a hospital in Australia, hanging onto life. Draco hadn't met them. But he had decided that he would give Hermione the gift of her parents.

He had found a specialist hospital. He had got the symptoms verified. The doctors had agreed that they would be able to heal her parents. She didn't know about it yet. He would tell her when he went on the date.

He suddenly felt nervous again. It would be the first time he had ever told a girl he loved her.

He smirked, unconsciously looking like his younger self. His confidence suddenly rose. Hermione was not the type of girl to sleep around; she had to at least care for him to sleep with him.

Scribbling a note to Hermione, he headed off to meet his parents.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Reservations at 8. Meet me at The Silver Wand._

_Draco_

* * *

The orders had started and she couldn't stop herself from following them. At first, it had been simple things like wash the dishes or clean your room. It was almost like they were testing out the potion.

This possibility gave Hermione hope. If the person who had given her the potion didn't know dark magic well, it generally meant that they were fooling around and she would be freed.

Hermione had worked hard on an antidote. But it would take even a genius, days.

She hadn't had enough time before the potion had gripped her.

Tears fell from her eyes as she followed her latest order.

It was in her head - in a voice, that was vaguely familiar. It pounded in her head and she flinched, covering her ears in a swift movement. It did not help. but it was a reflex.

Fighting the potion each step of the way, she picked up the quill resting on the table.

* * *

He paced the room as he waited for the elves to alert his parents that he had arrived. Since they had reconciled, he found himself relying on them. Caring what they thought - of his ideas and his decisions.

It scared him how quickly he had accepted them in his life. It was all Hermione's fault, he came to had changed him - and he had yet to decide whether this was good or not.

The door opened, and a timid elf emerged. With a swift nod and a gesture, he directed Draco to go into the study, where his parents waited.

He had had a speech prepared. But it flew out of his head when he saw the grinning faces of his parents.

They never smiled.

"Yo-you!" He stuttered.

His mother gave a sardonic smirk - characteristic to the Malfoy family.

"Such eloquence. Must be from your father's side of the family." She spoke.

For a moment, she pulled off the sarcastic look off well, but then she smiled widely. She was practically bouncing on the spot before she calmed down enough to speak.

"So what do you have to tell me?"

A knowing glint flickered in her eyes. She knew.

How she knew he didn't know but he relaxed, realising that she was quite obviously happy. He had come prepared for tantrums and threats, but for his love to be accepted so readily made him realise how much his parents had changed since the war.

He engulfed her in a hug. When he pulled back, his father stood, looking to and fro between them, in confusion.

His mother smiled.

"You better tell your father."

Draco's heart sank. His father would be the difficult one.

"Father, I'm in love . . ."

He closed his eyes, preparing himself for an argument. He would let his father know all that he should.

"That's wonderful, Draco."

Draco continued.

"And I don't care that you don't accept it. You knew I was going to marry her because of the Fallen Angel curse. .wait, what?"

He looked between the two of them standing, with their fingers interlocked.

"Why?"

He asked it simply. He needed to know why she had accepted it.

She grinned impishly, her face looking younger than her age.

"Well, we have to get grand children, some time!"

He prevented himself from groaning and letting free a string of swear words. Hermione wouldn't want it.

Merlin, he was whipped.

* * *

She was late. And not just by a minute or two, by half an hour. He wasn't even sure why he was still sitting there.

He hated the sympathetic looks he got from the waitress'. And the pats on the back from the waiters.

The manager headed towards him.

"Sir, we have another reservation for this table. We have to ask you to leave in an hour."

"She'll be here." He spoke, although uncertainty fled through him.

As if on cue, an owl flew through the window and perched on Draco's shoulder.

"Who let that owl in here? Sorry, sir." The manager said, looking harassed. He headed off in the other direction.

But Draco recognised the owl – it was Hermione's.

He opened the letter quickly, and regretted it immediately.

For on the scroll, there were only 2 words written in the heartbreaking familiar script Draco recognised as Hermione's.

'It's over.'

* * *

**AGAIN!**

**Very complicated plot for this part of the scam, so if you have any questions, sign in and review the question so I can answer.**


	21. Missing

**This chapter is dedicated to Kittyrin, who may or may not be reading . . .but she was one of my first reviewers! Also dedicated to NessaLikesaBoss - formerly Nessa Malfoy . . who was there at the beginning!**** And Brooke and Lucas fan - who I definitely don't appreciate enough . . . sorry! : )**

**Burningblacknblue, you get a dedication too! THANK YOU!**

**Thanks to Bloodthorn for the review! Hope this update makes you smile!**

**Sorry to all those who waited patiently and require an update now more than ever!**

**Also, I need some advice. So I read the beginning and I have to say I think the first couple of chapters put people off. So I might be giving this story a makeovr after it's completed. Just wondering whether I should leave the original up or to write over the original!**

**Now onwards, my wonderful readers!**

* * *

The room was dark. She could not see. She had never before been scared of the dark - but the air that surrounded her seemed ominous - and for a brief moment, fear seeped through her.

Reaching up to wipe the cold sweat off her forehead, she closed her eyes. Praying to a god she didn't believe in.

Hermione Granger had always been an atheist. And she had always been brave.

But as she braced herself, for the death she was sure would come, she could only remember her regrets. Her mistakes. And it was at that moment, Hermione Granger did something she had never done before.

Her spirit, like all spirits eventually do, broke. Perhaps broke is not the right word, after all it implies that it would only take a short while for her spirit to be fixed, and this is not the case.

Her spirit shattered, in a way that would be horrific to describe. And for that reason, no more detail on the matter can be given and provided for the reader of this story.

Herrmione only had the energy to do one last deed.

In the last moment, before she submitted to the darkness, Hermione Granger gave up.

* * *

Harry Potter had trust issues. And problems. But he had been spared commitment issues and that fact was a comfort, particularly in times like this.

Hermione had been missing for over 24 hours, before Harry found out. This was a shameful fact, but it was the truth and sadly to be expected.

The Golden Trio, as their name was once upon a time, were no longer close. Perhaps it had something to do with Harry's constant support of Ron, or perhaps it had to with Hermione's aspirations that caused her to spend more time working.

Either way, the fact of the matter was that Hermione and Harry were no longer like a brother and a sister. Now they were merely two strangers who had went to the same school.

The ties that seemed to hang by a thread had been further severed by the revelation that Hermione and Draco were engaged.

Harry had gotten over it. After all, Harry had never asked Hermione for her opinion on Cho. Or Ginny for that matter - he had just accepted that she liked them and got along with them.

But only Harry knew how much it stung, that Ginny knew before him.

His pain had dulled slightly when he heard of Ron's deeds, taken over by the uncontainable rage and protection only a brother or father can feel.

Harry hadn't called Hermione since the ball. The ball was the first thing that reminded him that he had truly lost her - to his worst enemy.

Harry had never wanted her as more than a friend. But that fact that someone else did was one he did not like to entertain.

It did not matter at that point whether it was Draco or Ron that was at Hermione's side, but the fact that someone was told Harry that he could no longer protect Hermione from the world as someone else had now been delegated that task.

His masculine pride hurt when he thought this, but it was true, and therefore Harry gave Hermione his space. And now she could be dead for all he knew.

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. No.

He must not think about that; Hermione Granger was a fighter. And she was in love, however much he regretted it.

People in love did not give up. With this thought, he happily went to the Floo. He would see Draco, after all he would probably know where she was.

* * *

The smell of alcohol on his clothes nearly made him vomit. He had drunk too much; his pounding head was proof of that.

The alcohol did not dull the pain.

_'Alcohol is a depressant, Draco. After you have drunk, you shall feel worse then you did before._'

He could hear _her_ voice. It haunted him. He was going mad, and the temptation to give into the insanity that swept through his blood was a lingering thought.

There were many things in his life that he regretted. But his main regret was ever meeting Hermione Granger.

Draco Malfoy was dying. Because through out all this, he had forgotten about the Fallen Angel curse. But it was a curse and his time was ticking.

Areas of his skin already felt cold - he was changing. Soon there would be a statue of a man who had once loved and lost.

_'Better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.'_

Lord Alfred Tennyson. His mind reminded him, as he thought the person who had said the quote. Alfred Tennyson had been a wizard, one his family had respected.

He scoffed, his eyes half shut.

Fool.

There was a much better quote that suited life more. Something he wished they would write on his grave after his death.

_'Better never to have loved at all, then to have loved and lost.' _

_Quote by Draco Malfoy._

He took another sip of the firewhiskey that had become his friend. It burned, no less than his first sip. He released a manical laugh.

He would live out the last of his days in solitary. He laughed again, his voice was drunk. He loved the numbing that had engulfed him.

_Eat, drink and be merry._

He did not know who had said that. He didn't care.

Draco Malfoy was embracing death, just as death had embraced him.

But first, he would embrace insanity.

* * *

"Hurry up, Luna." Narcissa's voice said,under her breath, in a hushed whisper. In a panicked motion, she raised her hand, to alert the blond girl to where she was standing.

It was risky to stand in the middle of Knockturn Alley and wave your hands for everyone to see. Especially if you were a Malfoy.

The Malfoys were considered traitors for going to the Light side.

The lingering Death Eaters would have cherished the revenge that was offered to them so plainly, had it not been for them knowing the power the Malfoys held. The Malfoys had given the Ministry donations in almost all the fields - and they held power universally.

Instead many pairs of eyes watched as a girl with a ethereal quality wafted her way throught the crowds to stand by Narcissa's side.

They watched as she was rewarded with a smile.

Glancing furtively round her, Luna bent forward and spoke words into Narcissa's ears. Narcissa nodded her head quickly, then took the girls hand.

They both swept through the crowd which cleared to make a path for them.

* * *

"_For the last time, sir. No one knows where Mr. Malfoy is_." The harassed receptionist at Malfoy Ltd. was turning red as she repeated the words again.

"Check." His voice rang out, from underneath his black hood.

"_I have."_ The woman hissed, the lingering politeness vanishing.

"You aren't checking! Typing an email to your friend is not checking. Do you know who I am?" The man asked.

The women turned to a phone that sat at the desk. It had at least a centimetre of dust lining it. She stared at it with a disgusted look before wiping away the dust with a handkerchief.

"At this point, I don't give a damn. You could be the Minister's son for all I care, I am calling security."

His hood fell off and the women cowered.

"So-o-rry . . . sir. Please don't report me, Mr. Harry Potter, sir, your highness." The women stuttered.

Harry smiled; sometimes defeating Voldemort and having to put up with Death Eaters sending him death threats was worth it.

"Check."

* * *

The door was making noises. Draco stared at it for a moment, contemplating his next move. He waited for a second more, before yelling.

"Shut up, door!"

To his surprise, the door answered back. And it had a male voice, one that he recognised to be Harry Potter's.

"It's Harry. And your mum, and Luna."

Draco peered at the door again; trust his door to be an overacheiver. He laughed as he went to the door intending to open it to see where the voice was coming from.

When the door swung open, he found to his great suprise, that there were people on the other side.

"Why are you interrrupting my conversation with my door?" He grunted.

The three people standing on his porch exchanged looks of concern - at his appearance and at his words. He stared between them.

"What?"

* * *

An hour later, after Draco had been forced to swallow 2 bottle of hangover potion, the 4 people settled down on the couch.

There was silence as they all contemplated what to say.

"Was it the receptionist? She is a Harry supporter, heaven knows why."

His attempt at a light conversation failed. The tension still surrounded them all.

"So why are you here? This obviously isn't a social call."

Draco spoke calmly, although he had guessed they might be here because of something to do with Hermione. The one thing that connected them all was Hermione Granger.

Luna, Harry and Narcissa exchanged looks before Harry spoke.

" Hermione is missing."

Draco looked up at them, before staring each of them in the eye. Only Narcissa, and possibly Luna knew the circumstances of their relationship.

"Why does this concern me?"

A look of disgust flickered on Harry's face.

"Because she is your fiance."

Draco laughed humourlessly, looking at Harry.

"So you don't know. It's over."

He looked at the identical looks of shock on all their faces.

"Don't worry, you will all get your wedding gifts back if you haven't already. When Hermione stops being a coward, and deals with the consequences of her actions, I am sure she will be gracious enough to return the gifts."

He smiled, standing up and leading them to the door, grimacing in pain at the cold area that was now spreading up his leg.

"If there isn't anything else . . ." He gestured to the door.

Luna and Harry left looking only too happy to. Narcissa lingered.

"My son, dying before his time." Her voice was husky with tears. Draco smile tightly.

"It is my time. Fate decided it." He spoke emotionlessly.

"She wouldn't do this." Narcissa spoke, looking him in the eyes.

"She would." He said, then he opened the door. " It is my belief that she planned this."

But his eyes betrayed him, a look of hope filling them.

It was then that Narcissa realised that they had to save Hermione. A love like the one that Draco felt was one in a million.


	22. Spilt milk

**Hi all!**

**Merry Christmas. As a special gift, you shall have a short chapter. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be able to write another chap later, a longer one. I just didn't have time to get a full chapter.**

**Thank you for all the support!**

**Oh and happy new year, just in case the next update is after that.**

* * *

Ron Weasley had always been the forgotten one in his family. With no real talent, but one for playing Wizard's Chess, he blossomed into a slightly possessive, selfish child. It was well hidden it appeared. But it had affected him badly.

Years had gone by, and it was hitting him at his age, now. It puzzled him slightly, as to why it had taken so long to develop. Prior to the hatching of this plan, Ron had never hated himself, though he had not liked himself. Ron Weasley had surpassed all expectations, but his own.

In his eyes, he was a coward. And he accepted it. As his eyes drifted over to the mirror, that showed his fiery hair, and contrasting watery blue eyes, he reflected on the past few weeks.

Spilt milk.

_'No good crying over spilt milk.'_

The words were true. He could not undo what had led to this moment, and he wouldn't be able to had he wished. It was strange that Ron Weasley did not wish to change what had happened.

It was now that maturity hit Ron harder than it had ever before. Gone was the childlike man, who had no control, it was now that Ron realised that he had to do only what he should.

He seemed now to realise that his mistakes were as much part of him as his hair, or his eyes. The first thing to move on, was to let go of the past. Hermione had done that. Harry had. Even Ginny had managed it.

It took a long time coming, but Ron was ready to let go.

And he knew exactly how to start. He raised his head, his ears pricked as he heard the conversation from across the room, with the Extendable Ear he clutched in his pale hands.

"He hasn't been to work for days. He was her fiance after all."

Ron looked up. The past tense had not escaped his notice. Did that mean there was hope for him? Ron was many things, but he refused to be blind. No. He had no chance, no shot.

His eyes sought who had spoken these words. It was Luna and Narcissa, huddled over cups of a hot drink. And they were the next part of the puzzle.

Ron Weasley had never been good at puzzles, but at this point in time, it was his deepest wish to beat those who conspired against him. By siding with himself, and by ignoring the world.

By accepting himself, before he asked someone else to accept him.

By realising what looked like spilt milk to some, was merely a new start to others.

* * *

_Marriage is not a word, it's a sentence-a life sentence._

_David Minkoff_

In the somewhat biased eyes of Draco Malfoy, this was untrue. Yet if he had glanced into the eyes of his mother,she would have merely nodded, and accepted it. It was strange how different yet alike Narcissa and Draco were. There was no mistaking that they were related.

Her eyes were mirrored in his. His stubbornness in her. There was only one thing that Draco had inherited from his mother, and it was her eyes. Her eyes that showed each emotion even whilst her face did not.

Her eyes which would leak tears that he had tenderly wiped away, being the stronger one. They were not like mother and sons are. It was a relationship where neither expected more than what they were given.

So when he had agreed to meet her for coffee, in the hope that he could re-establish the relationship they had once shared.

Narcissa had never shared that her marriage had been arranged, she had never felt need to. But now as she faced her son, a grown man, whose eyes shone with love for someone other than his parents, she knew it was time to tell him.

She remarked on it casually.

"I never expected to marry your father, you know?"

He nodded, and took another sip of coffee, his eyes not rising from the newspaper he was focused on intently.

"Yes. It surprised me when my mother told me he was going to court me. And that I would marry him in due time. I wanted love." She continued, taking a gulp of her own steaming drink.

He nodded, once more. It registered a moment later, at which point he raised his eyes, searching hers, for any betrayal of an answer.

She merely met his eyes, nonchalantly.

"Oh, yes. Sweetheart, didn't you know?" She smirked. It was a feature he had inherited.

Draco grinned, finding a little humour in the situation. Leaning forward, he asked her.

"So, what were you saying?"

Narcissa gently patted his arm, in pity, folding up his newspaper rather noisily.

"Don't smile so roguishly. It reminds me of those so-called socialites which inhabit the Club." She raised her nose into the air, obviously thinking that they were below her. But the twinkle in her eye was unmistakable.

"Mother." He whined, sounding like a child once more.

"Oh, sweetheart. My little boy." She resisted the urge to pinch his cheek. "Well, I didn't get love straight away. I was forced into marriage, and discovered love, quite accidentally, I assure you."

He raised his eyebrows, in surprise. Her story sounded remarkably like his own. Narcissa ignored her son's movement, raising her wrist to check the time.

"Is that really the time? I must be off. " She stood up, sweeping out. Draco looked at where she had stood, in shock. Sometimes his mother reminded him scarily of Professor Snape.

A moment later, he heard the click of her heels.

"Heed my advice. Love is not a thing to be easily dismissed. I see in you something I've seen in only one other person." She spoke quietly as she spoke to him.

"Who?" He asked, though in his heart of hearts, he knew.

"Me." She replied, walking out again.

Like mother, like son.

* * *

At the moment these events took place, the Auror office in the ministry was in turmoil. It seemed that having a third of the Golden Trio missing was affecting the rest of the Wizarding World badly.

Harry Potter sat at his desk, trying to remind himself that he must treat this case as he had treated all others. There would be no search or rescue team. He would have to ignore it for now.

But his mind argued with him. No. This was his best friend.

His mind made up, he sent out a owl to the best.

If this was going to be done, it was going to be done properly.


	23. Dead

**New house, new internet! FINALLY. :D And new chapter! Yay! Kinda short, sorry! Please review and all! ENJOY! And I'll reply to all reviews..if I can..**

**And thanks to someone.. Div ..but don't hurt my reviewers..;)**

* * *

The room was quiet. Almost strangely, as terrifying as the screams had filled it barely an hour ago. The silence was ominous and the air thick; it told one and all that there was more to come. The girl was human – a witch, and this meant the house elves were less inclined to feel sympathy. Yet they did. How could they not?

The girl was called Hermione Granger – and to some extent she was their saviour. Her foolish grin was one that brought many of the house elves back to happier times at Hogwarts. Nonetheless a sigh of relief had went through them when news reached them as news reached them of how she had abandoned SPEW, seeking to venture into elf rights in a more conservative, conventional way.

She had become a Medi-witch, one that served both creatures and humans. In a cliché way, she was the kind of doctor that healed hearts and injuries.

Queenie had only met her cousin Kreacher once, back when she was a child. He had been Harry Potter's elf for three years at the time and had only compliments to shower on Hermione. Her kindness and courage had no bounds according to Queenie.

"If that is true, then she will not bow. She has come to her death." Queenie thought.

Queenie did not like her Mistress, not that she cared to admit it. Her mistress ill-treated her, but Queenie had been born into the family. She wasn't sure if she had the heart to break generations of traditions.

She didn't think she could. But as she packed her meagre looking belongings, a rush of feelings filled her mind. These words prompted her to continue to pack her belongings. In another few moments she was ready. Queenie was leaving the Manor for good.

She smiled at the thought ash she raised her fingers to apparate. Her last thought before her feet touched ground again was the thought that had prompted this sudden decision.

"The thing about traditions is that they all start somewhere, and they must be followed for only one of two reasons. Sentimentality is the first, and the more important, happiness."

At exactly the point of this occurrence, Harry Potter was having a crisis of sorts. It was all well and good to plan out what to do, but they had no information, as to where Hermione could be.

He sighed, running his hand through his already dishevelled hair. There was only so much he could do and he was painfully aware of that. As his eyes watched the seconds hand on the grandfather clock he had managed to smuggle in, he couldn't help but sigh.

Each second was one wasted. They had no leads, and Harry couldn't help but think that there was no way he could manage to find her, unless there was a miracle.

For all they knew, Hermione could have been taken by a Muggle. In fact, with each moment spent dwelling on that idea, the likeliness increased.

"Harry Potter, sir." His head looked up, his thoughts disrupted. In the doorway of his office stood Thisbe, his secretary.

"You have a visitor, sir." Her voice was meek and timid.

Thisbe was a new addition to the cluttered offices that were the Auror department; the recession had affected the Wizard World badly. She had the potential to achieve many things. The title of Auror could easily have been awarded to her.

Harry looked up at her, his hands running through his hair, his eyebrows pulling together in frustration.

They had no witnesses or informants. And he wasn't sure he could cope with this visitor. Tiredly, he waved his hand, gesturing for the visitor to enter.

"The poor thing refuses to come in. I think it would be best if you stepped out a moment. She insists it's a matter where secrecy should be maintained."

His attention peaked; who was this mysterious visitor who refused to see him in the offices? Could it be someone who had knowledge of where Hermione was?

He paused for a moment, considering his options. He had only two – to meet this visitor or to deny this visitor had any significance in the case. Choosing the latter was not preferred, but Harry could only think that he wouldn't be able to face certainty if this visitor confirmed Hermione's death. Out of all the reasons that this visitor could have come to see him, that seemed to be the one with the highest probability.

He sighed; he shouldn't have taken Hermione's case in the first place - it was a conflict of interests, and he had been aware of that when he had taken the case. His emotions and his moral compass were conflicted. He rubbed his temples, trying to get some relief. It didn't work and he wasn't particularly surprised at this. He relaxed, slumping in his chair.

"Sir?" Thisbe spoke once more, prompting him to remember that she was still present. He looked up at her, speaking two words softly.

"A moment." He spoke in a voice that trembled with intensity; it was all he could do to not cry. It was no surprise that so many had thought that he loved Hermione. In any case, the rumour was not that he loved Hermione, but that he was in love with her. The former was something he could not deny.

It was at this point that Thisbe's voice broke through again. Her voice was soft – and it surprised Harry that a woman as young as Thisbe could have such maternal instincts.

"She'll be okay, Sir. In the meantime, I think a cup of tea will help." She smiled impishly, heading to the door. "Perhaps this visitor has information that could save her; I suggest you talk to her."

He nodded, thankful that someone understood. She nodded in return heading into the corridor. Standing, he took a deep breath – he was engulfed by the familiar smell of tea wafting through. He sighed. He was ready.

Opening the door, he addressed the visitor with a pleasant, though forced, smile.

"Thank you for coming." He did not know the visitor well, but he could say with utmost certainty that she had information.

"S-sir, Mr Harry Potter, sir. My name is Queenie and I have information."

Another round of screams went through the room. A cackle. Another. And yet another.

When would it stop? Hermione could no longer sense the world around her; she paused and tried to breathe.

The echoing cackles surrounded her, stranded her – strangled her. She wished for release. Relief. An end of some sort. She didn't mind when – but that was a lie, was it not. As soon as possible, please. It made her start as she realised that she was so close to the edge.

She pushed away this thought. She was a Gryffindor. Through all the longstanding pain, through all the stuff that had happened to her, she had been strong. It did not matter that Harry and Ron were not at her side this time. She would be strong now too.

Her voice of reason told her to stop dwelling – and to fight. She had no response to that. A deep breath resound through her slim figure. Follow her instinct. Her crumpled body uncoiled as she pulled herself up.

No more.

The suffering and pain wouldn't end. But the crying could.

* * *

He felt guilty. This was not an emotion he was usually compelled to feel – and he did not like it. At first, he ignored the feeling that seemed to reside in every corner of his brain, in each action he did. But it had caught up to him.

He had tried a method that she had taught him. Write a note. Put it into a glass bottle – and throw it into a river. Watch your troubles sail away.

At the time, he had laughed at her, and gently eased her hair away from her face as she laughed. She had looked happy, and beautiful. She was happy then. He had never been able to tell how much of her instructions were just hyperbole – and metaphoric

Sailed away and never come back. It hadn't worked anyway. The guilt was so overpowering that he had not managed to get past the first word in the note.

To a man with a bitter past, he should have already earned forgiveness. He had left a message on the table – informing them of the involvement of Rita in this plot. Anyone would be able to work out the rest of the story then,

But he, though he had been stupid, in the past few months, had always judged himself harshly.

The note he had not finished was crumpled at his feet; the tear splattered ink strangely though provoking. The messiness of the area around him was something well suited to his personality.

He hated this him, and he realised that as he studied his nibbled nails with a hatred that was beyond him. Anxiety had been a stage before the guilt hit him. It had heightened when he had sighted the clothes draped over the worn wardrobe. Remnants of her presence.

For a moment, he could appreciate why she had walked out, no matter how much he wished he couldn't. Sometimes he cried, and maybe that was what made him weak.

He liked knowing he was human enough to cry; he hadn't felt human for a long time. For one thing, humans had feelings. It seemed like in the past month he had not. Perhaps it was because he internalised them – but he did not know for certain. Had he, he would have undoubtedly felt satisfied.

He no longer cared for happiness – and again this spoke of how he was not normal to an extent. Happiness was the basic urge a human felt. But humans were animals, and wolves. It was happiness they wanted, but survival they needed.

He was fine with survival. He would not cry in defence.

This was a good thing. No matter how he was loved by friends and parents, he was not able to look in a mirror, with hate not visible in his eyes.

Courage surfaced in him, as he looked through the window. Death had always been considered as a cowardly option.

But to him, he could see no greater happiness. It was martyrdom. It was heroic.

He laughed – his tears stilling. A sharp pain fled him as his hand tightened its grip on a sharp object.

There was a moment of silence, as broken gurgling laughter filled the room.

He could not cry anymore. He was dead.

* * *

The phone rang endlessly; Draco had learnt to play deaf. It was a good thing he had done so because otherwise it might have happened that he would feel inclined to answer. He had to pretend that it was silent, if only for his peace of mind. Foolishness might have been his master, but he was just as ready to challenge it given the choice.

He sighed; he relaxed.

Perhaps he was cowardly, if he decided to simply _be_. To not love and burn. To crash. To die. His sudden thoughts seemed unlike his own. These days, Draco could barely feel anything at all.

His philosophical mind should not have thought – but he could not help himself. His thoughts were suffocating till they escaped his lips, almost by accident.

She hadn't been seen for another day now, and he could feel the pain rising, on its slow steady path.

He had to keep hope.


	24. Closet Gryffindor

**WOOT WOOT! Yay for quick updates..well, I say quick. It's been about . . 9 days? Hmm.. I have an exam on the 6th - i.e. this Friday, so I really must focus. But holidays start next Tuesday!**

**This chapter is dedicated to all of you - and I just wanted to do a little shout out, to Highland Bride, I think that was it, who pointed out major flaws! **

**Thank you to everyone! And I hope you enjoy this chapter..Btw, did anyone realise that someone died in the last chapter? :p**

**Don't forget! Be cruel, be evil - it helps with editing - and I won't get mad. Promise. **

* * *

The streets of the nearby area were empty. His coat was pulled tightly around his slim body, his trousers just slipping on beneath it's length. It was cold - and his scarf whipped him as it flapped in the wind.

It was a silent struggle against the wind as he continued to walk down the road, his eyes focused on a house at the end of the lane. He was not to be distracted by anyone.

He smiled. Time's up. A sound from the alley made him turn his head, as he saw a little elf.

"Queenie!"

It was a moment, before the elf popped out of the shadows appearing next to the man.

"Where?" Queenie pointed to the house at the end, just as the man has suspected. With a nod of thanks and a pat on the head for the small elf, the man was off, his jet-black hair hitting his forehead repeatedly.

His green eyes sparked.

Harry Potter was on a mission.

* * *

Hermione sat in a brown chair; the screaming had long since ended. She faced Rita with an unadulterated hatred. Her chestnut hair lay over her shoulders, and her head was raised, in pride.

Rita poked at the fire with her wand. It took only a moment for the fire to burst into flames with renewed vigour. Her eyes flitted to the clock on the mantle piece.

"Mr. Potter should be arriving soon. Both Weasley and Queenie proved to be not as loyal as they claimed."

Hermione blinked in surprise; her voice, so unused, was dry when a sound escaped her.

"W-weasley?"

Rita grinned, as if sharing a secret. She leaned forward, though they were alone in the room.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley. A brave boy once; it's remarkable how times change."

Hermione shook her head, with fervour. No. He would not do that to her - he was many things but he was loyal. Her mind raced. Rita took a sip of her tea, with a smile.

"We have a moment. I might as well tell you my plans. I have always laughed at the villains who submit their plans. But it is undoubtedly because of confidence. I am indeed confident."

She settled onto a chair.

"Let's start at the very beginning. How did you get the potion? Hmm.."

Rita laughed.

"They say you're smart, Hermione, do tell. How did I get the potion into you? The wish and the command potion, I mean. The second was easy to deliver."

Hermione knew exactly how it had been given to her. But she did not answer. Her throat was sore. And dry. Rita smirked, undoubtedly interpreting her silence in some other way.

"Well, I'll tell you. It was not hard. Marietta, the dear, was very helpful with that indeed. You see, she has a talent. Potions." Rita spoke softly, watching each expression flash past Hermione's face.

"Oh, yes. It's a potion that acts by inhalation. Why, she should be credited to that. Marietta was indeed willing to suffer herself. Why, she was very sad to administer it. But the bottle was accidentally dropped in a room, empty. But for you. "

Hermione turned her head.

"It's very lucky that it evaporates in 5 minutes. Why, we didn't want unnecessary suffering."

A crash sounded from the living room. Rita sighed.

"Mr. Potter is polite as ever. He has no doubt just broken my priceless oak door. There was a perfectly sound brass knocker."

* * *

Luna impatiently circled the room as she waited for Narcissa. The note that had arrived on their table was recognised quickly.

It was the Weasley boy's handwriting. And he would feel no need to lie.

It had taken hours of strategic planning before the note had been carefully deposited in Draco's room. In a place, he would be sure to see it.

Luna had heard of a certain rumour that Harry had been approached by a house elf with information. And by rumour she meant, Mrs Potter had informed her.

When Hermione would be back, Draco would be himself. Luna knew that Narcissa missed her son. She didn't like the empty shell that Draco had begun merely for how it affected everyone.

Blaise missed Draco. Luna could tell. Blaise was a broken man. He might have been foolish, but Blaise cried often. Luna had tenderly wiped his tears, and told him that the Nargles were just messing with him.

The Nargles. Luna almost laughed at herself.

It never failed to surprise her how acting crazily to a point could mean that people underestimated her.

Luna never cried. It was a weakness. But she knew exactly what she had to do. And she had done her job. Draco would have to be blind and deaf and mute and whatever else to ignore the note.

But Luna did not fear for a moment that Draco would ignore the note informing them of Rita's involvement in the plot.

After all, he was in love.

* * *

Harry. Harry. Harry.

His mind was haunted by the sound of this incessant calling of his name. It sounded like Hermione. He found himself following the voice. The corridors were cold, he realised as he shivered.

His feet stepped firmly over the cold stones that lined the old house. He had reached a dead end in pursuit of the voice. He turned, intending to walk back.

A woman's silhouette was at the end of the corridor - dressed in a black billowy cloth. Her hand raised, and it struck Harry how dark it was in the corridor.

Lanterns lined the corridor, and it was only now he noticed this, as they all flashed on with a wave of her hand.

His wand was up, ready to fight within an instant.

She laughed, a low laugh.

"Come now, Mr. Potter, it is you, who has trespassed. who are the intruder."

His wand didn't relax as she walked closer to him.

"Skeeter."

* * *

Skeeter was delicately pouring a cup of tea into cups as Harry watched her. Seated beside him was Hermione. She looked worn; worse then she had when she had been crucioed.

The pain of death.

That was what the potion was called, and this made Harry shake his head inwardly. Death was painless. He knew this from his own reincarnation of sorts.

But Hermione was worn, her limbs laid lifeless next to her, and her smiles did not reach her eyes. She winced with each movement. She had suffered.

A new bout of hatred rose within him for Rita.

Skeeter had reached this. She had done this. Insanity was the only plead she could have left; Harry would not be surprised if she was indeed going to plead insanity.

Rita giggled as she put down a cup of tea in front of him. She then put another in front of Hermione.

"I haven't had guests for a long time."

She hummed, and busied herself putting biscuits onto a plate. Harry once again wondered what was wrong with the woman. She was acting very out of character.

A sound from down the corridor alerted them all to the arrival of a third visitor.

"That will be Marietta."

* * *

The note on his desk made him wince. He was not a hero. He had always left that to Pothead. But when faced with Hermione he knew he needed to wake up and be the hero.

He had expected it.

He glanced at the clock. He had been bed ridden for days. And his energy had passed. He did not dwell on it, but maybe now was the time to stop thinking about waiting and instead go looking.

He smiled, as he dressed. He unconsciously put on scarlet colours. The house system had suited them well in Hogwarts. But if Hermione was a closet Slytherin, then Draco would match her. He would be a closet Gryfffindor.

Might as well go out with a bang.

* * *

It was remarkable how everything had changed. Harry Potter had never thought that he would be caught by an amateur - Rita Skeeter. After all she was an amateur at her worst.

But it was so that he had been caught out at her worst.

The one main problem with Harry was his unfounded stupidity when it came to predicting the possibilities of a certain activity. His failing was no doubt based in the realm of underestimation. To underestimate, one must value themselves too much - or worse still, suspect that the person they are facing is of a lower material than them.

Neither of these posed a problem to Harry.

It was his complete trust in people that caused Harry to start. And when someone Harry had trusted turned on him, he would lose it.

Hermione was one such person.

Marietta Edgecombe's arrival caused a catalytic catastrophe. Marietta had wrapped her arms around the frozen Harry, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Harry had not hit out. Why would he? Harry did not have any evidence - and he could not prove anything, thus far.

No. He had to do it logically - legally too would be preferable.

It was no wonder that he cried out in surprise when Hermione suddenly turned on him, a wand at his neck. His hands shook - his eyes widened, and his hands fell from their defensive position.

His eyes flicked to Rita, then back to Hermione.

"Her-hermione?" His voice quivered.

But her eyes were looking through him, as if he wasn't there. She did not see his face, as he pleaded. He cried, quivering; he cried not even realising he was doing so, because this time she had the power.

It did not matter that Hermione had the power - that had never worried Harry.

What worried Harry was that it was not Hermione who had the power, but whoever was controlling her. A clear sheen covered her irises - tears.

It was not her that was doing this; her hand shook as she raised her wand.

"Go on, dear." Rita's voice broke through prompting her.

What drove Rita, he wondered. Rita, though many things, had never shared that hatred for Harry. He knew exactly what drove her. What else would make Hermione suffer but the act of murder - done by her own hand. And to none other than her best friend.

Harry watched as Hermione raised her wand higher, in reply to Rita's command. But she did not say anything, pleading to Harry to rescue her.

Harry had rescued many people in his life but he was at a loss of what to do now. The brains of the trio were missing.

And it was the brains they needed to rescue her this time.

* * *

Molly was crying. Arthur was stroking her back. Ginny was at a loss - she alternated between shouting, crying and remaining silent.

And the rest of the Weasleys remained quiet in the face of such turmoil.

The old gentleman who stood next to the worn couch was smiling politely in the face of the disfunctional family he was having to serve. The samples of cloth and wood lay on the chestnut table.

Ron Weasley was dead.

He had committed suicide.

The family were silent for a moment after the announcement of sorts. And then they had cried. They felt detached in a way. He wasn't really family. Not really.

Ron had made many mistakes. But they had forgiven him.

Blood is thicker than water was murmured from ear to ear.

It took death to make them realise that.


	25. Murderer

**Another tasty chapter for you guys! Things are really heating up. I hope you guys enjoy this! I put a lot of effort into it! Thanks to all my reviewers, I think I replied to all of you. If I didn't I'm really sorry. I will do soon. ****Be sure to tell me off.**

**Read it! And don't kill me for the ending. A lot of this is in drabble form - I think I've finally discovered my style!**

* * *

Draco knew where to go; he had been there many times. It did not phase him that he would have to use childhood memories to remember where - under threat, he could do anything.

His footsteps hit the pavement hard. He was not in a hurry to make himself invisible to the rest of the world. His enemies were already aware of what he was doing. His smile deepened as he saw the house in the distance. Pureblood society dictated a great deal of mixing between each part and arm of the pureblood series.

Rita Skeeter was one such pureblood. Her family, though considered 'blood traitors', were more than happy to take their place in society. Her father and mother had suffered at the mocking made of their family after their son - their heir - entered Hufflepuff.

When Rita entered Slytherin, it caused only relief amongst the purebloods. One family like the Weasleys was more than enough - purebloods were limited anyway.

The door was on the floor, already broken. Looked like Potter's style.

But if Potter had entered the house, that could mean one of two things. That Potter had rescued Hermione already or that Potter had somehow been captured. The footsteps lining the path were old. No fresh ones had crossed over for at least a few hours.

Potter had failed.

Draco sighed. He always had to go clean up the mess his predecessor made.

No, if he wanted to rescue Hermione, the door would not be a good option. They would expect it.

He had two options; the roof or the window - they could both support him. Choosing a window, he took his broom from his charmed bag, pulling it out.

He hovered.

When he _did _rescue Hermione, she would not be happy about descending on a broom.

He smiled.

* * *

Marietta sat on the sofa with a smile of satisfaction. A self assured grin filled her as she sat facing the quivering Hermione. Marietta's hands slowly raised, and she felt her puckered skin where her scars remained.

Sneak. It was this girl opposite her who had done that to her. Her anger bubbled.

"Hello, Harry. How are you?" She smiled coyly as she observed the uncomfortable Harry, before settling back again. His wand hand twitched before he relaxed again.

Marietta knew there was a high chance of them getting caught - unlike Rita, she had evaluated this. But she was not scared. It was the Ministry she had supported.

Hermione had been encouraging treason - it was besides the point that at the time the Ministry had been infiltrated at the time.

Marietta had devoted too much time and support to the Ministry - for little return. She no longer cared. Hermione Granger was well worth this.

If Hermione suffered, then Marietta would be fine with a stint in Azkaban. Besides which the Dementors were no longer under Ministry employ - and were not used unless in exceptional circumstances. She would be ok.

Her eyes hit Rita, as she heard the other woman giggle. Rita was foolish, stupid and easily disposable. But she was a good cover to hide behind.

No one would suspect Marietta as the real mastermind. Poor little Marietta, with the flawless record and the parents who were ministry workers.

Her parents had been disposed of too. They were nothing but a hindrance. Stupid as well.

But Marietta was smart. She had carefully planted ideas in Rita's head; she had even encouraged Rita to claim them as her own. When all this was over, with or without the time in Azkaban, she would move to Switzerland.

Or Finland.

Some place in Europe. Quiet.

She would become the pretty, innocent wife. She would finally develop the potions she wanted. She would be free from the shadow that had darkened her doorway too long.

The Ministry.

It was silly to give importance to the Ministry. But they had served her well. They had funded her research. 'A brilliant, young woman.' That's what they had called her. Never the brightest witch of her age.

It did not matter anyway. Hermione was nothing but a small distraction. She smiled pityingly at Rita. It was a shame Rita had had to be dragged into this.

When Rita was done having fun, the woman would be just a shell of the bright, passionate witch they all knew and loathed.

"Rita, do calm down, love." She said, as the woman laughed even more uproariously.

But that wasn't enough for Marietta. Unbeknownst to Rita, Marietta intended to not only tear Hermione's soul, but also to dispose of her body.

And there was a very simple way to get rid of Hermione.

Poison.

There was a problem with everyone; Rita was getting too big for her boots - sadly her humanity remained intact even after all the pain they had inflicted onto Hermione.

Marietta smiled as she watched Hermione quiver - fighting the orders that told her to kill, her wand firmly clutched in her pale fist.

* * *

_Kill._

**Why do you want me to kill? I love him. He's my best friend.**

_Kill._**  
**

**Please. **_  
_

___Kill._

_**Please.**_

* * *

Draco gripped the cold broom tightly, balancing with the skill of an athlete.

His eyes could see past the glaze of the glass. Heat flooded his body as he caught a glance at the brunette witch, who drove him mad. The one he was here to rescue.

She did not look ill - or harmed. His eyes narrowed, focussing on her. Her skin was pale - and she looked tired. As if she had suffered.

Anger bubbled to the surface, pushed down in a coldly involuntary manner. He could make out what she was doing now.

A pale, worn Hermione stood, her wand aloft. His eyes furtively darted to see who had caused her wrath.

Potter.

He blinked. Potter was her dearest friend. Closer to her than Weaselette, and never changing - more so than Ron was. Had been.

There was no possible way that Potter would do anything to make Hermione turn on him. He was too caring, in a way. Draco had insulted him many times, but this was one thing he could not fault Harry on.

So, what was going on?

His eyes could see the quivers leaving Hermione's form. She was doing this against her will.

His urge to protect her flared. He was not chauvinistic in any way. But she was his, in a way at least. And no one would hurt her, as long as there was breath in his body.

He would not relinquish her any time soon.

He needed a plan. But first she needed to fight it herself.

* * *

Hermione could tell exactly which spell was on her - thanks to Rita's reasoning. She knew that there was no way that she would not be able to follow the orders that were being given to her.

But she knew one way to combat it.

The orders could not be specific. This was the one failing of the potion. While it lasted longer then imperio, it could not give direct orders.

So, though it told her to kill, it could not specify who she was to kill. She wondered whether Marietta and Rita were aware of this. And if they were, then it was decidely foolish of them to use this potion.

She could easily turn and kill them.

But this caused another dilemma. Hermione didn't want to murder. To kill.

Even during the Great War, she had not murdered. Injuring others severely was as far as she would go. The words Avada Kedavra had never passed her lips.

She did not have the hate required for it.

But when forced to do it, she would kill. No matter what morality dictated.

* * *

"Rita. Stop this. Stop it." His voice was urgent, his eyes looked tired - his face red.

It was Hermione doing this - and it wasn't. He couldn't just harm Hermione in the hope of saving himself. They would hurt her. They would kill her, for his idiocy.

It wasn't easy when he wasn't fighting a person's body and soul. He was fighting Hermione only in body. She was being controlled. And yet he couldn't harm her. Because it was the image of his best friend.

His sister.

Rita giggled.

"Please, Rita, stop it." Harry begged, once more.

"The great Harry Potter begging for his life." Marietta spoke softly.

Harry held his tongue. He wasn't begging for his life, rather for his friend's sanity. She was not one to kill, or murder. But Edgecombe didn't need to know that.

Edgecombe did not have any obvious motivations. She had sat demurely - neither aiding nor stopping Rita. But she seemed to have power. Or perhaps Rita had power over her.

It did not matter anyway, Harry realised. He needed to get Hermione out of here. And her spell needed to be dealt with.

How?

He did not know. And it was a moment before he realised how he would do this great escape.

It was a flash of colour that alerted him to his future actions. Only one person in the entirety of the wizarding world had platinum blonde hair, so pale that it was almost white. And that person was no doubt someone who would approach Hermione, in an instance to rescue her.

He smiled suddenly, to the alarm of the others in the room. In the position he was in, he was the only one who could see Draco.

He needed to make sure that they did not turn to the window where Draco was hanging. If they did, Draco could very easily be caught.

Harry trusted Draco with Hermione. He did not know when it had happened but Draco was very obviously devoted to Hermione.

It was Harry who had thought this of Ron. And Ron had turned out to be someone entirely different to what Harry had envisaged.

But Ron was dead. Hermione didn't know that yet, he remembered.

Draco would save Hermione. But as he watched the athletic man dangle from the window ledge with a look of panic highlighted on his face, Harry knew Draco needed all the help he could get.

In a dramatic change to his former self, from mere minutes ago, Harry needed to distract them all. And keep them distracted for long enough, so that Draco could come in.

A simple stunning spell or disarming spell would knock out one of the two ladies. But Harry knew enough about people to know that one of them would try to use Hermione as a human shield.

Harry could feel his wand in his pocket. He would disarm one of the ladies, and hopefully in the confusion Draco would rescue Hermione.

This didn't change the fact that Hermione had been ordered to kill him.

From the sheen of sweat that lined her forehead, it was clear they had five minutes or less. They had five minutes or someone in this room would be dead.

* * *

Draco knew that Potter had realised that he was here. He was the only one facing the window, and that meant that Potter would be able to help.

He took his wand. Potter might be distracting them, but it was unnecessary. For once in his life, Draco Malfoy was going to be reckless. He took his wand from his robes.

_Bombarda._

* * *

Panic floods them. They scream. They cry. And suddenly there's spells flying everywhere. Of blues and reds. Wiry sparks flood the air, the heat exploding from each individual spell.

And a woman out of the three in the room screams. There's a green light in the room. And everyone recognises it.

**Avada Kedavra.**

Two bodies falls to the floor.

And everyone watches in horror.

It's only a few minutes before Aurors are present. The Avada Kedavra curse has attracted them. The only thing they all know is that out of the people in the room, one is a murderer.


	26. Poison

**_Listed Angels of the Wizarding World_**

**_Noted by the Ministry's Scribe - Kia Serons - _****_1928 to present_**

**_Beaulance_**

_A French wizarding family, who have now had their blood contaminated with inter-breeding with veelas. To be avoided. Males of this family have long since stopped carrying the angel blood. However females, though limited, carry the angel blood - and have the added benefit of not sharing the Anges Tombes curse, which has been inflicted on their male counterparts._

_The Veela blood in the family means that they have very diluted Anges Tombes blood - which means that the beauty and charm that a normal Veela gets is deemed inaffective after the age of 18. _

_Current members of the family who are considered to have angel blood : _

_Null._

_All members dead._

_**Jantreos**_

_The Italian counterparts of the Malfoys - commonly misspelled as Malfoi, meaning bad faith - this family also have angel blood, and are also the descendent of one of first Anges Tombes. They share the Stone Dragon's Curse with the Malfoy family of Britain. _

_Current members of the family who are considered to have angel blood : _

_Maxmillian Jantreos _

_Sasha Jantreos_

_**Malfoy**  
_

_The Malfoy family is famed in the world of the magically oppressed because of their excessive wealth - and success. The Malfoys have descended from Anges Tombes blood. The curse took a toll on their family - as death is the only option for one that does not find their mate. However, in recent years, many methods have helped the Malfoys to find the mates they are paired with._

_Mating is all that is required to complete the match - with the addition of an heir in the first 10 years after mating. __The Malfoys do not require a proper marriage to symbolise mating - and can simply dictate joining by using words._

_After the birth of the first child, the Malfoys no longer have to suffer the possible pains and problems faced in the lead up to mating. The bond that will remain will instead be a romantic one - whilst it was one that shared physical pain, in the past._

_Current members of the family who are considered to have angel blood : _

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

St. Mungos was at its busiest in weeks. The hospital had been quietly declining in emergency problems. There were always the few oddballs - and the ever bubbling psychiatric department. But the emergency department was quiet.

Till suddenly, three bodies were being wheeled in. And a large family of tired-looking redheads - at least three generations of them, trailed behind the bodies, as well as _the _Harry Potter, who looked worried.

Of the five people that had occupied the room in the manor, one was arrested at the scene. Three were taken to hospital - one already confirmed dead on arrival. Of the two fallen that fell to the floor, only one was dead. The last of the people in the room was merely a spectator. It was Harry that was the spectator.

It was Marietta Edgecombe who was in custody.

It was Padma Patil who calmed her younger colleagues down, and it was she who hurriedly ran over to the people she knew so well. Padma had trained along side Hermione to become a Healer. Her twin, Parvati had decided to pursue a career at Madam Malkins, but Padma had always had a certain firmness of mind that dictated her becoming a Healer.

She took their pulse, and carted them into the ER room, with a sense of calmness that the others appreciated.

It was a moment before she returned.

"Hermione is in critical. " She paused, hesitant whether to continue. "Rita is dead. It seems she was poisoned."

No one seemed concerned about Rita. The shock on each person's face was evident, as they all sat there looking at Padma. There was only so much that they could do as they sat there on the cold seats.

"And Draco? How's Draco?" It was Luna who spoke. She was the only one who would inquire, it seemed. The Weasleys might have accepted Hermione's relationship, but that was as far as it ended.

Their biased minds seemed to imply that Ron's death could have been prevented had it not been for Draco.

Draco was the third casualty - the third body that was wheeled into the old magical hospital. Moments after the arrival of the Auror, Draco had fell to the ground writhing.

Padma looked saddened as she pondered how to answer Luna's earnest question. She sighed.

"I hate to say this, but it seems he's going to die on my watch. He is inflicted with some sort of curse – that's what I make of it from his records."

Luna spoke quietly in reply to Padma.

_"Anges tombes._"

Padma started.

"Yes, that was the name. Are you aware of it then, Luna?" All of the people there could see the glimmer of hope in Padma's eyes. She seemed excited and suddenly aware of what to do.

Luna nodded slightly.

"How?"

Luna tilted her head, wondering whether to divulge the entire secret, of sorts.

"I discovered it quite by accident, in fact. The curse runs within Draco's family - and it was only due to my extensive work into the existence of Angels that I discovered it, in the first place. I found old records listing them, and Draco's name was on it. Recognising it, I researched into it."

She told the entire truth, letting everyone near by know as well.

"Do you know who his mate is?" Padma accepted what Luna told her, but seemed to need to know more.

Luna was silent, as she wondered how to answer. She was not entirely sure, as neither Draco nor Hermione had ever confirmed it. But with their sudden relationship and engagement, her suspicions were alive.

"I do." A voice spoke from behind Padma spoke. It was then Padma noticed how the eyes of everyone in the vicinity were looking beyond her, to someone standing directly behind her.

She turned, with a sense of anticipation. Each person in the room looked shocked at who it was, but for Luna, who knew exactly the depth of the connection between Draco and his mother. For, who else would it be, who would seek Draco out then Narcissa Malfoy.

It was perhaps, more surprising, then that the man who lingered behind her, with his long shoulder length platinum hair was Lucius Malfoy.

There was a brief moment of silence, that followed their arrival. The tension of the room was stifling. It was Narcissa who finally broke her silence.

"Is he OK?" She directed the question to Harry and Luna - the last moments of the war were ones that defined them, and Harry hadn't been quick to forget Narcissa.

Narcissa's face was pale, and stretched tight, in a look of anxiety.

It was Molly who answered her, realising the concern on her face. Molly and Narcissa shared many things, though no one, including themselves, had realised this.

They shared the firmness - the ferocity - when demanded of them. They also shared the links through their pureblood ancestry. But perhaps the most important thing they shared, according to Molly, was their maternal instincts - and concern.

It was thus, that when Molly saw a fellow mother, her mind drifted to her own children, all seven of them.

And it was she who realised that this poor broken woman needed a shoulder. One that Molly could lend.

"We have hope." A gentle sentence fell from her mouth, and she was unable to stop it, but neither did she wish to. Narcissa felt a smile touch her lips, even as her mask of concern laid on her face.

"Thank you." She whispered, in a meek tone that none of the other people had heard leaving her mouth before.

* * *

_She's running. She can see Draco in the far distance, and she can't help the joy that floods her in a sense of ecstasy. Draco. Draco, my darling. Sweet nothings are expelled from her lips as she catches a flash of blonde hair._

_Brown eyes meet grey, and she smiles. _

_She blinks - though she wants to glance at his face for a while longer; she regrets blinking instantly because when she opens her eyes, he's gone. _

_She calls to him. And suddenly there's a flash of green light. _

_Hermione. It is whispered across the sky, and as she looks up to see where he is, she can see the fast approaching grey that signals a storm. It is the exact colour of his eyes._

_She turns, running to find shelter. She looks back, and for the briefest of moments, she can hear her name whispered once more. She blinks again. The grey clouds are almost above her now._

_The flash of green light has long since vanished, but she can't help but think it was somehow ominous. Her mutinous mind tells her to run back. And so she does. _

_She runs fast and hard into the storm, and it is only seconds before her skin is wet - she doesn't know whether it's wet because of perspiration or the rain. She does not care. A gurgling laughter reaches her ears and she's running again, her aching legs crying out in protest._

_Draco. He's dying. It surprises her he isn't already dead, because it is now she realises what the green light had been. She cradles his head in her lap, her tears falling on his face - melding with his own tears._

_A loud ticking alerts her to the prescence of something else. At first, she thinks it's his heart, beating - reassuring her, he's still alive. __He gestures to a nearby tree, where a ticking clock proudly proclaims the time._

_"I waited." He says and then softly, ever so gently he closes his eyes. And it's now she realises it's all her fault. She has killed him._

* * *

Padma started in surprise as she saw the rapidly pulsating heart monitor. It was due to Hermione's insistence that the muggle machine had been added to the wards at St. Mungos. They had, of course, been magically enhanced, but the practical use remained the same.

It was connected to Hermione Granger, the woman who was currently thrashing on the hospital bed._  
_

Padma seemed to follow her instincts as she laid a cold cloth on Hermione's forehead. In a pureblood world, cold cloths did not help. But it seemed to ease Hermione.

She fretted silently. Narcissa and Luna had told her who Draco's mate was and Padma had calmly moved them both into the same room. Harry seemed to linger near the door, where both Draco and Hermione's beds were placed side by side.

It was Harry, a world famous auror, who had realised what had happened.

Marietta had switched sides - she was tired of Rita. Marietta had poisoned Rita. And Hermione, sweet Hermione, had realised. Rita was already dying. The poison would have killed her in minutes.

Hermione had intended to kill Rita - in a strangely selfless act.

She had intended to rescue Rita, by making sure she did not suffer the painfully slow death of the poison that Marietta had put into the tea. It still astounded Harry that Hermione had caught onto Marietta's shifty dealings.

But perhaps there was something he had missed.

What surprised Harry more was that Marietta had committed the act of murder so subtly. Even the heartless have a change of emotion when killing, Harry had always felt. Marietta was very different in that way.

* * *

Narcissa sat, leaning against Lucius Malfoy, who had his arms wrapped around her person. She put her head into the crook of his neck, in an age old gesture of seeking comfort. She had kissed his scars since he'd had them.

Since they were in Hogwarts, the beautiful cool Slytherin girl, with the older man who barely gave anyone a second glance, she had recognised their love. And she had not been surprised when he had told her she was his mate.

But here, her son faced trials, and she closed her eyes, realising that she was unable to help him. If only things were as simple as they had been during her time. She wished.

* * *

**_3 decades before our story takes place_**

**_Hogwarts _**

_Narcissa Black was beautiful. She was also untouchable. With pale, ivory skin - and waist length blonde hair she was enviable. Her green stormy eyes were lined with black lashes as they flashed in happiness._

_She sat by the lake, her legs spread out on the grass. She laughed as she saw some younger students trying to skip stones. She was no longer a student. She was here to get married. _

_She flipped her wavy hair back off her face, as she leaned against the trunk of the willow tree that over hung the lake. Her sharp ears caught on the sound of someone walking up behind her._

_She turned, ferociously, her wand out in an instant._

_"Narcissa. It's me." She did not need to ask twice who 'me' was. _

_She turned, recognising the silky voice. _

_"Lucius." She whispered._

_He laughed, a low laugh, wrapping his arms around her. The twenty-one year old man kissed her temple, with love. _

_"My mate." She smiled. _


	27. Love

The constant air of tension was suffocating. And through it, a man dressed in the blue robes of the Medi-witches and wizards, hurried, barely acknowledging those settled around him. His brunette hair was ruffled in such a way that it seemed only to highlight his urgency. However he himself was insignificant. But the paper he held in his fist tightly was more important than anything he had held in his life.

It was a note - that detailed the awakening of Hermione Granger. The very same Hermione Granger who was nothing short of a celebrity. She had woken up in the early hours of morning, and had pleaded with the night medi-witch not to bother to inform anyone. As it was, Padma who had been the nurse who had treated her in the morning, could not contain herself from telling everyone.

Identical copies of the note had been sent to anyone who mattered and was important enough. They all clearly stated in Padma's neatly and carefully 'drawn' handwriting that Hermione was awake.

A sort of gentle elegance filled the words, that could have been interpreted as pompous had it been anyone but Padma writing it. Padma, though she had been in their year and in extension had had shared some form of acquaintance with the Golden trio, did not feel it was necessary to impose on them. And so she had left the letters, simply to allow them the comfort of knowledge, coupled with the distance that letter-writing itself allowed.

Each letter had the same template.

_Dear {insert name},_

_Hermione awoke this morning at 0800 hours. She is getting stronger already, and would benefit from a visit from her trusted and loved friends. A visiting hours sheet is attached. Simply write your name into a slot - please note only one person can have each slot. All the visiting sheets have been charmed to be updated - if one of you chooses one slot, all the others will see your name in that slot. _

_Make sure to update the sheet as soon as you can - as I have already mentioned, she needs to be surrounded by her loved ones so she can gain the mental benefits of it. _

_Padma_

_Head Medi-witch _

_Accident and Emergency department_

Letters had been distributed sensibly. Luna had promptly received one. Harry too had got one, and after a little contemplation, his wife as well. It was the last couple that Padma dwelled on. It was after a great deal of thinking that she carefully wrote out a third letter, folding it and placing it into a simple regulated envelope. On the cover, she carefully printed out the letters, before slipping her impatient owl some nuts.

**_Mr. and Mrs Lucius Malfoy_**

**_Malfoy Manor_**

She paused. She did not know the location of Malfoy Manor. Figuring her owl would successfully locate the manor, she sent it off. It was clear to Padma that the Malfoys played a significant role in Hermione's life. She bit her lip as she looked down at the names on her list of people to oversee.

Draco Malfoy was just under Hermione; the list was arranged in the order of arrival in the department. Padma had to go see Draco. Preferably in the next hour. She looked over at the clock. She had time to go and see him now.

Heading towards his room, she couldn't help but be drawn in the opposite direction. She naturally turned to the right. She had to see someone else first. Someone who would undoubtedly wish to help in Draco's case.

* * *

Hermione shivered, gasping at the cold air that seemed to engulf her. Her knees drawn up to her chest, and her hair covering her body, she felt more vulnerable then she had ever before. She had survived.

Hermione couldn't shake off the feeling that Draco was dead. She could remember only until her wand had dispelled the Avada Kedavra curse. The curse that had fell from her lips for the first time. Her eyes fell to her hands.

"They are not hands. They are weapons." It was a quote from one of her favourite books. She had always loved the slightly sadistic books - it was a wizarding book. It had actually referred to non-verbal spells. But Hermione could see it easily fitting the unforgivable curses. She had killed.

For a moment, she remembered why she had killed. That these women had made her kill. That it was worse than even the imperius curse, that potion that she had used. And it was a moment more, before she realised she had indeed sacrificed. Her innocence was lost in the act of preventing needless suffering, of a woman that had made obvious her hatred of Hermione.

It was Hermione who had studied people for so long, that she was aware of how non-verbal spells worked. It was she, who had seen Marietta's lips move unconsciously as she spelled the tea to be poisonous.

A hot tear fell down Hermione's face. It was the only heat she felt. She rubbed her hands together, trying to get heat into her body; her muggle upbringing seemed to show up only at these times as she foolishly forgot to use her wand.

"Hermione?" The voice was hesitant, as it came from behind her, from the door. Padma stood there, in her medi-witch robes, her face a mask of concern.

"Sorry, just a moment." She dried her tears, turning with a plastic grin, placed firmly on her face.

"I'd ask if you were OK, but it's obvious that you aren't." Padma smiled, as she sat down on the bed. She handed Hermione a clinical tissue, which Hermione made quick use of.

"I murdered, Padma." Hermione's voice was low. Padma's face darkened slightly, but she kept her head up.

"We have all grown up before our time, Hermione. The War had many victims. I too have killed." Padma's voice was soft, hinting at the pain that hid behind the soft mask she had used to decorate her emotions.

Hermione's eyes darted to Padma in surprise, encouraging her to speak more.

"We all killed. We all watched someone die. My mother was killed by Dolohov's cousin - his name was Mensta. That's what we were told. Parvati was the Gryffindor. She wanted to seek him out. " A dry laugh was expelled from Padma's mouth.

"I told her not be foolish. She went anyway. She found him, you know. She was angry. I followed her. He was stronger than her. And when I saw him torturing her, I lost it. I killed him. And you know, I've never regretted it. It filled me with cold that I was more than happy to put up with. My sister lived, didn't she?"

Her voice was broken, and Hermione realised that she was crying too. She softly raised another tissue, offering it to Padma.

And they cried together; the Gryffindor who killed in the name of sacrifice, and the Ravenclaw who had killed merely to protect her own. Each woman in her own thoughts, her tears running and realising that the guilt she faced was one she was not alone in.

* * *

It was an hour later when both of the women settled down, and decided that the time had come to deal with the problem at hand. A problem which one of the women was still unaware of.

Padma sighed as she paused before considering what to say.

"Draco is in a light coma. I have calculated that he will fall into a deeper coma tomorrow. And the day after, his heart shall give out." The euphemism did nothing to hide what she was saying. It took only a moment for Hermione to react.

Her face paled - her eyes widening almost comically as she realised what Padma meant.

"He will die." Hermione spoke softly. She laughed dryly. "Nice birthday present."

It had just dawned on Hermione that her birthday was two days away. On the day Draco was going to die. Her mind rushed over what he had told her.

**_"I have to be mated, before your 21st birthday."_**

Realisation hit her, seeming to drench her in cold. She could save his life, and maybe have a blossoming relationship. Or she could let him die, and find someone she could love without being forced or coerced into anything.

It was strange that she had a life that she could save, and she was actually contemplating whether she wanted to. Where was the Gryffindor, who used her bravery to acheive all she wanted?

It seemed like a dream when she heard Draco's voice whisperto her.

'_**Closet Slytherin.**_'

She felt a sudden sense of panic as she realised that she had a choice. Choices were not to corner but to give opportunity, but she was not ready for this. This was a premature talk.

She had Draco's life in her hands, and was unsure how to react. She turned to Padma.

"May I see him?" Even seeing his sleeping form would give her a sense of relief at this point.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy had many labels. He had many labels for the entire duration of his life. It had first been the heir to the Malfoy fortune, then it had gently eased into being that blonde-haired Slytherin.

It had developed in his life - the Death-eater, the follower and the governor. It was rare that he was mentioned as the husband of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. And it was perhaps rarer that he was mentioned as the father of Draco Malfoy.

But it was so, that it was. He was indeed all those things. And it was the last label that Lucius felt didn't suit him. He didn't act like a father at all. He neglected it - or had done for most of Draco's childhood and adolescence, even in his teens. He did not know enough about Draco to regard him as his son. They shared the sort of polite acquaintance the you shared with a distant friend, or contact.

But here, his son was, on a hospital bed - a hospital bed that was very nearly his death bed. He was dying, and if he did indeed die, he would die before his father. No father, no matter how little the term applied to them, was willing to put up with his offspring's death.

Lucius stepped forward, gently placing his hand on Narcissa's shoulder. She was crying - he had learnt to tell that from the fallen shoulders, that shook only lightly. Her blond hair softly rose and fell as her shoulders shook. His hands lightly stroked her hair back, away from her neck. Sometimes prescence was enough.

"Cissy." He whispered it softly. He wanted to hold her hand, but they were wrapped in her son's. She did not turn to him.

"I have to go." She should have been angry, but she wasn't. She merely nodded, knowing and understanding Lucius.

The atmostphere seemed to strangle him. Hot hands tight around his neck, pressing on his pulse. He needed to escape. And even if it meant abandoning his family, he had to leave. The thing about Lucius was that he was selfish. And he was completely satisfied with that.

* * *

"May I come in?" Hermione spoke hesitantly, not wishing to interrupt Narcissa, as she looked over her only son. But she walked in anyway, understanding and realising that Narcissa would understand.

"Narcissa. I don't know what to do." Narcissa turned to her, with a strange dream-like aura. She smiled softly.

"I'm his mother. I'm biased." Her voice was broken; it was clear she wanted Hermione to take Draco for her mate. But a part of Narcissa wondered how much of that was because it was her son.

"May I have a moment alone with him?" Narcissa nodded, placing a kiss on Draco's hand, before exiting the room. A sense of relief filled Hermione, but in her paranoia, she cast silencio.

The next words she would speak would be her admitting how she felt. It would be her admitting that somewhere along the way, she had stumbled. And she was in love with a certain Mr. Draco Malfoy.


	28. The Other Woman

**Back. Added to the end, if you care to read.**

* * *

**"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind."**

**William Shakespeare**

**A Midsummer Night's Dream**

The fact that Hermione's name was uncommon was due to the fact that her parents had a fondness for Shakespeare. It was not in fact based after the Hermione from Ancient Greek stories.

Though Hermione was unlike her namesake, in most manners, she loved reading Shakespeare. The worn pages of an old book had been her friend for such a long time - ever since she was little, and she would never get tired of the fact that Shakespeare could express himself in such a beautiful manner.

Hermione, though many things, was not a poet. Still, she sat at the bedside of the man she loved, holding his pale hand in both of her own. And her lips began to form the words that were sincere, and quiet.

"I love you. I don't know when it happened. I honestly love you. It's strange, isn't it? All those years spent hating you, that seemed to melt before our very eyes." A wry laugh sparked from the lips of the brunette, who sat by the man's bedside. Her laughter quietened as she stroked his almost white hair back off his face.

His manner of ease in sleep resembled a cherub - or an angel of sorts, and she sucked in her breath as she admired his Adonis-like beauty. Her head lowered to kiss his forehead, her breathing got louder - the frequency of each breath increasing.

He's wearing a hospital blue gown - the generic ones that are backless. On most anyone, it would have been trauma-inducing, but on Draco, it simply makes his sculpted body more obvious.

"I will always wonder if we were meant to be, or if all this is just because of the curse, you know." She said as she slowly lifted herself up from the leaning position she had been in.

"Do me a favour, Draco. Wake up." She laughed dryly at herself for a moment. As if he could even hear her - as if he could do what she asked. "I'll do anything."

She paused, taking a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders, remembering that she too had been in pain hours ago, and should indeed be resting. Her hands found her lightly bruised skin, as she turned to Draco again.

"Even that mating."

She closed her eyes. A moment later, a series of beeps filled the air. She looked up - the magically enhanced heart rate monitor was going crazy. He was waking up.

* * *

_She is whispering to him, and he's laughing at her, as her hair sways at him. His almost-white hair is flying in the wind, though it's not long enough to whip either of them in the face. He imagines that he looks good almost model-like and this is only confirmed when she smiles at him._

_She's running and her hair seems to float in the air as she laughs, her head turning to look back, only after a long distance. And she's calling him. She's screaming his name. _

_He's asking her to stop, so he can catch up, but she's too busy laughing. He's running. _

_**He knows it's a dream. **_

_But he's happy for a moment, and she's running back. And she's whispering his name. Draco. Draco. Draco. In a sort of monotonous pattern, she speaks his name - he cannot help but smile. _

_Then suddenly it's all black, and he can just here her words. _

_**Wake up. I'll do anything. Even that mating. **_

_Even blind, he can feel her around him. Her voice is filled with a desperation that hurts him. He caused that. Somewhere deep inside him, he's glad. He feels satisfied that he has escaped that. That she feels that for him._

_A sense of drowning fills him. _

**He's awake.**

* * *

"Move. Everyone, move out of the way." A harsh voice is speaking, and there's a bubble of laughter, before the voice speaks louder. "Move."

A series of beeps fill the air, that are the tell tale sounds of the heart rate monitor. And in the chaos, a voice speaks louder telling everyone to move. All the people in the room feel rushed, and chaotic.

"Move, move, move. " The voices are more urgent. And it's obvious that it's not just one harsh voice now, but a series of people all speaking in unison. Another eruption of abrupt orders are quick to succeed the rough noise caused by the movement, in compliance to the orders barked out.

A series of gentlemen and women too, in their pale blue hospital robes are all surrounding the bed. And one other woman, who doesn't seem to be hearing the orders that are being yelled.

The latter woman is easily recognised by most everyone in the room; she is, after all, a third of the golden trio - a half, considering that the trio is no longer one, but rather a duo.

The man's eyes flicker, and he sits up. His eyes hit the woman in the centre of the room, and suddenly it feels like all the nurses and doctors are intruding on an intimate moment.

"Hermione." Says he, and she smiles.

* * *

Two men are in a dark room.

One has shaggy jet black hair, and flashing green eyes - that are comfortably framed with a pair of round spectacles. His most prominent, and distinguishing feature however is neither of the two features aforementioned, but rather a pale, fading scar mildly highlighted on his forehead.

Anyone in the Wizarding world would easily have been able to tell who he was, because of this scar.

The other man, too, was remarkably well-known. And specifically in connection to the Order of the Phoenix. His name was Kingsley Shacklebolt and he was the Minister of Magic.

The connection between the two men was obvious, and it was evident that Kingsley and Harry were friends beyond their working lives. But anyone who saw the men could also tell that tension hung high in between them as they stood.

"She did it in self defence. Argue that." Harry's voice was definite.

It was with a subdued voice that Kingsley answered.

"Be that as it may, someone fired a killing curse. And it seems to be Hermione. Her wand was lifted."

A flash of anger filled Harry that was visible to Kingsley - his temper was one thing that had not changed, nor matured over the years. The teenager still resided in Harry as a constant reminder that they had been forced to mature too quickly, and this was never good. Kingsley tried to be rational, as did Harry but one was protecting his 'sister', and the other his job.

As it was, they continued to face each other, their muscles tense and firm.

"Are you really going to ruin it over her?" Kingsley's voice was soft, but his words were cutting - and Harry tensed further.

"She's my sister, she would never do that." Harry's voice seemed to be injected with a desperation that seemed even more damaging than Kingsley's words. But it was so that friendship was being ruined.

"Minister? Your 3 O'clock is here." The gentle voice of a secretary drifted into the room, making both the men start. As Kingsley turned to face the door, mentally preparing himself for his next appointment, Harry's voice pleaded once more.

"Please. Please. She's my sister." By the time, Kingsley turned to face Harry, he had already apparated out.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy seemed to objectify grace, and dignity. Yet, when the news reached her that her son was up, she rushed to the room. If God was something that the wizarding society actively believed in, she would have thanked God. As it was she neither believed in God, nor knew who God was, so she simply thanked the doctors and nurses.

If she had seen Hermione on the way to Draco's room, she would have thanked her too;it was something she had said that had made Draco wake up, of that Narcissa was sure.

She rushed into the room, and her eyes widened as they fell on how the nurses and doctors had seemed to turn away from the couple sitting together on the bed, so as to give them privacy. Even Narcissa felt as if she was being intrusive.

She let out the breath, which she hadn't realised she had held. The couple turned at the sound of her exhaling, and both pairs of eyes glistened with tears. Draco in his weak state leaned on Hermione, who gently held him upright.

They showed all the 'experience' of a couple of 20 years.

And Narcissa fought the battle within herself, knowing that she was no longer the first woman in her son's life.


	29. Will Power

**Vamptwilightharrypotterfanfo rever, Hogwartshotness, anonymousreader123 are all worthy of my thanks! As are the rest of you! Sorry for not replying to reviews this time. Just so backed up. It's a short chap I've been needing to lengthen. But I figured I should quit the wait. I have a bunch of exams..So I won't be on for a while. But hols are in 2 weeks or so! :D**

* * *

The steady stream of mediwitches flitted in and out of the corridor. Susanna Whitefield was the head mediwitch on duty; her list of references were long - and the comments received were profound. Though she was good at her job, it was a note of interest that Susanna was quite 'clutter-brained'.

Susanna was called at exactly 16 minutes past 5 pm to Room 73 - a room at the far end of the corridor. She rushed to see the old man who occupied the room, upon hearing that she was required in the room, fearing the worst.

He was an old Warlock, who complained almost constantly - and Susanna had learnt not to pay much attention to the man. As it was, she put on her best smile, ready to be the calm and composed presence he required.

"The chanting and the like going on next door is increasingly disturbing. I am trying to read the Prophet - there's some juicy news about that Hermione woman."

The man spoke in a crackling voice, and lots of grunts. Susanna was glad that she had grown accustomed to how he talked, because if she hadn't, she would have found it increasingly difficult to understand him.

She walked closer, ready to give him a reassuring pat. Her ears subconsciously strained to listen to what the man insisted he heard. It was with surprise she realised that there was indeed chanting coming from the room next door.

A low voice was murmuring some sort of Latin phrases again and again.

_Constringo vos ad me._

Susanna thanked her lucky stars that she knew Latin. It meant 'I bind you to me' - and this was enough to pique her already highly-honed curiosity. With a gentle smile to the old Warlock, and a flimsy promise to return, she left the room, in a rush.

The door of room 74 was closed - which was a rare occurrence, in an otherwise generally public ward. Susanna paused, wondering what to do. Light emitted from the small peeping gap in the bottom of the door.

Her first natural instinct was to Alohamora the door. But she paused, for some reason unknown even to her.

Her mind flashed to the list that she had been going over in the morning, being grateful that she had a photographic memory.

_Room 74 - Mr. Draco Malfoy - being treated for an unidentified curse._

She moved away from the door, casting a spell to keep the noise in. Walking down the corridor, she did not turn to look back.

If she had, she would have seen that the light from the door was flaring. If she had not cast the silencing spell, she would have heard the noises getting louder still. And if she had opened the door and looked inside, she would have seen two young people, clutching each other with a desperation.

Susanna Whitfield had unwillingly, accidentally become guardian of a secret - a secret that determined the future of both of the people in the room.

They were bound.

* * *

"We call the accused to the stand." The voice of the Chief Warlock was clear, with a crackling of interference - correlated with the Sonorus charm. The Wizengamot was in session, and each of the plum-clad members watched as a woman shifted slightly in her seat, but made no attempt to move otherwise, her head raised high in defiance.

If anyone had seen the woman a day prior, they would have been surprised at how her condition had improved. She had been a medically-induced coma mere hours ago.

The Chief Warlock once again spoke, as the woman still refused to move.

"We call the accused, Miss Hermione Jean Granger to the stand." At the usage of her full name, Hermione started, and slowly walked up to the stand, her mind burning with a childish reluctance to do so.

Whispers immediately filled the Wizengamot, as anticipated by the more experienced wizards and witches amongst them. The full assembly of the Wizengamot was rare. In the past two decades alone, it had only happened once - when Harry Potter had stood accused against a charge of underage magic - in front of a muggle at that.

It was unnecessary for the Chief Warlock to mention why she had been brought to stand;the Prophet had already covered it, in great detail. Still, the Chief Warlock went on to mention it, in his sombre, low voice - _For vicious minded spell casting of the unforgivable curses, **Avad****a** **Kedavra** - _and still Hermione remained emotionless in the face of these accusations.

The hostility with which the Chief Warlock spoke was familiar to Hermione; she was, after all, a war hero who had suffered through out her high school years. And furthermore, she was an adult who no longer had the childish fancies correlated with being a child.

A child - 'innocent as a rose', is forgiven and may be forgiven for all short comings as it is understood that it comes with age to mature satisfactorily. But, overnight they grow to become adults - and these children, who have not been altered through out life for the simple fact of their age, are forced into conforming into a wizarding society that punishes even the innocent.

Hermione had read wizarding history. The Wizengamot was not as old as they seemed to imply. They were a fairly new edition to the wizarding world. Their laws still had to be edited - she understood this. Had she ventured into a field in the Ministry of Magic, she would have been quick to resolve this.

As it was, they were right to bring her forth, and this stung. They had to punish the owner of the wand, and the caster of the spell. She was both, and knowing the laws, she should have twice the punishment. Even if it was to rescue Rita from herself.

Her mind hurt. She revelled in the joy that Draco was awake. He was on her side. She revelled in knowing that he was as much hers as she was his.

She turned to the visitor stands, half expecting him to be sitting there. for her 'moral support'. But he was not there, and deep down she knew he wouldn't be. He was ill, she reminded herself.

Her tired eyes closed for a second. It was over in some way. They were together. He was hers. And she his. But that didn't mean their trials and tribulations were over.

It was over.

It did not seem like it was however, and it hit her as a niggling feeling in the back of her mind.

She would take it as it came, she decided - breaking off her thoughts. She turned back to the attendants that had been rushed onto the stage when she had been otherwise occupied; she allowed them to measure her wand - and tap at it with numerous instruments.

A particularly squeaky and short wizard finally raised his hand and the others stopped fiddling with her wand; he reminded her of Flitwick. An hush fell on the room, as the man spoke.

"10¾ inch, vine wood, with a dragon heartstring." Then all the attendants were hustled off into the back room, to wait till they were needed again. So, it was indeed Hermione - and her wand that had cast the spell.

Kingsley stood towering over the top of the balcony stand, where he was sitting. His voice was calm - and his eyes indicated no regret to what he was about to do to Hermione. Hermione stared up at him, not caring about propriety.

"I did not do it."

It took all of Kingsley's willpower not to agree.


	30. Closet Slytherin

**I am dreadfully worried that this is all too rushed. I got two important things into one chapter. And now this is my last proper chapter. I'm considering an epilogue, but I think I might leave it. **

**Please however, if it does seem rushed - which to me it does - tell me. It's important to me I fix it right now! :D Quickly. Before it taints Dramione fanfiction forever and ever.**

* * *

_**Tap, Tap, Tap.**_

The sound of footsteps was the only sound that anyone in the room could hear for a moment. A rustle of robes from the far corner, and a cough from somewhere near the door broke the hypnagogic effect of the silence. Kingsley had casually stepped off the podium, walking down the stone steps to stand beside Hermione; a steady determination lit his face.

Hermione did not move even in the slightest. She blinked, and then once again, she was still. Statue-like.

The court had filled with uneasiness. As if each person awaited their cold death; none of the members in the room were going to die, at least not at that particular instance. Each person stilled anyway. Another cough left the mouth of the little witch who was seated near the door; she reddened in embarrassment as everyone turned to look at her, with a firm unblinking gaze.

Hermione coughed too. Kingsley neither turned in concern, nor did he look as if he had even heard her.

"I am your Minister. The Minister of Magic. This woman, Hermione Granger, used the third unforgivable curse. The Avada curse." His voice was low, and sombre, a tone that Hermione distinctly remembered from Order meetings.

"I am your Minister. I have known this woman since she was little more than a girl. I have known her bravery. Her steadfastness. Her stubbornness. I have known her and I have seen myself dimmed in comparison to her courage. She killed to allow a painless passing, to a woman who would never offer her the same courtesy. Can it truly be called killing?"

His voice cracked with emotion.

"Her forgiving nature that I have often cited as foolish is enviable. The same mercy she has bestowed on those who have faulted her - on Rita Skeeter, I wish to bestow upon her."

Kingsley turned to the wizard who was denoting the events of the court case.

"Please check Statute 192, under which you will find the rights of the Minister of Magic. I am legally allowed to change law, with or without agreement from the Wizengamot. Should I gain agreement from as little as 10% of the Wizengamot however, the process will take no more than an hour. It could otherwise take a few months."

He paused, as if steadying himself for his next words.

"Let it be written that Hermione Granger has been confirmed as guilty."

Everyone drew breath. Hermione sighed, her head lowering - for a moment, she had held hope.

"Let it also be known that the law regarding the usage of the Avada Kedavra curse is to be changed. Hermione Granger will be the first woman to benefit from the rule change. It will require careful consideration before an individual can be sent to Azkaban for usage of the Avada Kedavra curse. Self-defense, or euthanasia can be excluded from this - the individual remains free."

"The other matter of her claiming to be under the control of a potion cannot be solved; the potion has not been recognised. But as soon as the Ministry has confirmed that the potion is real, we will monitor those who are inclined to make such potions."

Kingsley looked up at the Wizengamot.

"Who will second my motion?"

Being a war hero had its benefits. Hermione had saved many. It took less than a minute for an old Warlock to second the motion. And less than an hour for the Wizengamot to reach a unanimous decision.

She was guilty. But she was free.

* * *

Draco shifted uncomfortably. How was it going? His eyes seemed to keep drifting to the clock of their own accord. He tried to relax, rolling his shoulders. His body slumped lower into his pillows.

His eyes flickered shut, in the face of comfort, and heat. He desperately tried to stay awake. He was asleep. It would be another two hours before he woke up. And when he did, it was Hermione who sat on the edge of his bed, his left hand held in both of hers. Her thumb gently stroked the back of his hand, as he looked at her.

"Well?" His impatience was so very Draco that Hermione could not prevent a smile sliding onto her face.

"I have been found guilty." She bit the inside of her mouth, to prevent herself from speaking further.

Draco's face dimmed. There was an uncomfortable silence. Hermione turned away from him so he couldn't see her face. She trembled slightly, as she moved towards the window in his room.

"My name still has power, you know. Malfoy, I mean." His voice was very quiet. He was stiff again. She turned to him, her hands stroking the back of his neck, softly.

"Oh, my darling Draco." The endearments that she had so long regarded as 'cheesy' fled her without restraint. She couldn't help herself, she realised with no sadness. "I am free. But guilty."

Draco looked up to blink at her, for long enough to admire the beauty of her eyes, and the shine in her hair, before he too was swept away in emotion. His eyes close, his voice deepened.

"Explain." He said gruffly. He tried to remember what his father had drilled into him so many years ago. 'Malfoys don't cry.' Lucius had told him that so many times, and yet here was Draco challenging this fact.

Hermione explained the events of the trial. Kingsley was instrumental in all this, she remembered. She would thank him when she had the chance, but right now, she wanted to be wrapped up in Draco's arms. If her eyes had noticed his tears, she did not say anything about it.

They were mated - and their marriage loomed. It would be a simple marriage - it was the mating that was generally done with great pomp. It was not to be for Draco and Hermione, who had had to perform it in a hospital room, with a near dead Draco in the hospital bed.

Hermione slid into the bed, the side of her body hitting Draco lightly. Their hands entwined together, their legs tangled within each other, they stayed quiet for a moment.

"We're getting married tomorrow." Hermione whispered, with a sense of awe. There was a brief moment of silence.

"Marry me." Draco looked at her, his voice louder than hers. He repeated himself. "Marry me."

Hermione laughed, sliding into his arms, her hand wrapping around his waist. "I have already agreed, you idiot." Her voice was careless, and she put her head on his shoulder.

"No. Marry me. Right now. Today." Urgency laced his features. Hermione's mouth opened just a little, in surprise. She blinked a few times. Then she took a breath. The next sentence that left her mouth was quietened with a kiss.

"Yes." She whispered, again when they drew apart.

* * *

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today." The man in wizarding robes was addressing the large, expansive audience of two. Well, three including the cleaner.

"Is this really necessary? Can you not just skip to the I do, husband and wife etc." Draco was impatient. Hermione was too, but she was polite enough to hold her tongue.

"Why, yes. It is indeed necessary." He sounded indignant; Draco was quick to realise that the ceremony would be extended if the old wizard was not stopped from starting a lecture on the history of wizarding rituals.

"Do continue, Minister." Hermione soothed the old wizard's ego with a sentence, whilst patting her mate's arm.

She was dressed in a white shift dress that she had worn to her cousin's wedding. The wedding dress that she had purchased for the 'big' wedding that was meant to be tomorrow was at Malfoy Manor in Narcissa's care. Hermione had not wished to alarm the witch by telling her they were 'eloping' if you could even call it that. Hermione sighed contently, turning to the Minister who was still droning through the ceremony.

She wished her parents could be here. They had long since settled in Australia - and now the little tie they had with their daughter was strained. It had been hard to get back their memory, and they hadn't recovered it fully. They were still the Wilkins who had lived in Australia all their life, except this time they had a daughter. A daughter who claimed to be a witch.

It was no wonder they kept their distance from her, a girl - a woman, that they never really knew. And Hermione had long since accepted that they would never amend and repair the tears in their relationship. She had resigned to believe that.

She wished her friends could be here. Even Ron. Because beyond everything, he was a friend. But he was also gone from _her_ life, and gone from life itself. Hermione found her eyes misting.

This had been trying. The entire 'falling in love' thing. Perhaps more so than the war. It had claimed a victim and it had repaired. But it was never going to get easier, she could feel.

Draco nudged her, his eyes looking her over in concern. She shook her head at him, indicating she was fine.

Her mother, her mother before the war had been close to her. And it was her voice Hermione heard now as she turned to the Minister, speaking. It was the one time Hermione had heard her say something with conviction.

"I do." She said, her voice firm, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She looked at Draco, as her mother's voice murmured in her head.

**Hermione, my dear. Listen to me. And listen close.**

** If it's worth it, if it's worth any of it - I mean, the tears, the fighting, the sadness, if it's worth all that, then it sure as hell better be worth fighting for. **

Hermione leaned up, stretching to kiss Draco on his cheek. Her own cheeks were wet with tears. She slowly trailed her kisses down to his chin and then to his lips, seconds before the Minister looked up and announced - too late - that the groom may now kiss the bride.

"You might have been right." She said, breaking away for a second, the warmth of her breath still hitting his skin. His eyes were dazed from her kiss, and it took him a second to reply.

"Hmm?"

She grinned.

"About the closet Slytherin thing." He smirked, his eyes turning mischievous.

"Oh, really?" He teased. She nodded, laughing, her chestnut hair falling back over her shoulder.

"Oh, yes. I think my green garter might just prove it." She thanked the Minister, and turned running back down the aisle before Draco could react. He was a second late in registering what she had said. But as soon as he did, he was off running down the aisle helter skelter.

For a moment, he closed his eyes.

To think, all this because of a curse.

Life had its way of turning out right.


	31. Epilogue

**I thought long and hard about whether this story deserved an epilogue. But I found I could not disappoint you, even when I had trouble figuring out what to write. In the end, I thought I'd leave a poem and a little scene. I will not be writing Scorpius's story, in case anyone thinks I am. **

* * *

**When I die**

_Do not adorn me,_**  
**

_Do not mourn me, _

_Lay me gentle as a petal, in my wooden chest,_

_Do not shed tears over me,_

_Lay me next to my love,_

_So that even in death, others may see,_

_That we were happy._

_So that even in death, others may see,_

_Still we are happy._

* * *

A man stood in the cold, his winter coat dwarfing him, his grey scarf fluttering in the wind. His hair was platinum blonde, a shade that was practically copyrighted to the Malfoys. He flung a rose onto the graves that he stood in front of.

They were old when they died. The younger ones had tried to guess.

'Easily past ninety.' One would say.

'Easily past one hundred.' Someone else would reply, in a bid to win an unspoken fight.

Eventually the children would quieten.

Their graves were well-preserved - exactly as they had been when they'd been made. The Muggle children always wondered why that was. Their great-grandchildren, and their grandchildren and their own children had gathered around them before they died.

They were happy. Even near death. They were together.

Scorpius smiled as he recounted all of this. He stood slightly taller as he walked from the graves. It was no longer their story - it was an entirely new story.

**-FIN-**


End file.
